Sylvan Muses, can ye sing
Of the beauty of the Spring?
Have ye seen on earth that sun
That a heavenly course hath run?
A silly shepherd lately sat
Among a flock of sheep;
Where musing long on this and that,
Lovely kind, and kindly loving,
Such a mind were worth the moving;
Truly fair, and fairly true-
Pretty twinkling starry eyes!
How did Nature first devise
Such a sparkling in your sight
As to give Love such delight
The worldly prince doth in his sceptre hold
A kind of heaven in his authorities;
The wealthy miser, in his mass of gold,
IN the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
Forth I walk'd by the wood-side
When as May was in his pride:
Good Muse, rock me asleep
With some sweet harmony;
The weary eye is not to keep
Thy wary company.
Oh that I could write a story
Of love's dealing with affection!
How he makes the spirit sorry
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower
Where the heavenly Muses meet.
Say that I should say I love ye,
Would you say 'tis but a saying?
But if love in prayers move ye,
Will ye not be moved with praying?