The Suitor

Leaves are thrusting, flowers are springing,
And the breath of May to birds their music hath restored.
I can sometimes fall a-singing
Though the frost lie thick and thou, fair dame, give no reward.
But the forest minstrels,—they
Sing in no man's ear, once half the summer's passed away.

Glittering flowers shall shimmer fairly
Far and wide, made brighter by the hanging drops of dew.
Clear-voiced birds, they carol rarely,
While their young they rock and cradle all the Maytime through.
Never drowsed the nightingale.
Now I waken up again and sing by hill and dale.

For thy grace my song shall sue thee.
Aid me, dearest lady, now, since now is time for aid!
Service I have offered to thee
And shall offer till I die. Then, let me be repaid!
Solace let me win from thee,
And from my weary lamentation set me free!

Let my service now discover
Whether it will please thee yet, such joy to me to lend,
That my grief be given over
And my constant wooing win from thee the longed-for end
Thy fair grace hath proved so strong
Upon my heart, that songs I sing thee short and long.

From thy charming indignation,
Lady, and thy sweetness too, much grief I have endured.
Wilt thou give me consolation?
By one helpful word from thee I should be lightly cured.
Drive my cares away, that I
May yet be glad and high of heart before I die!