Love in May

Off with sleep, love, up from bed,

This fair morn;

See, for our eyes the rosy red

New dawn is born;

Now that skies are glad and gay

In this gracious month of May,

Love me, sweet,

Fill my joy in brimming measure,

In this world he hath no pleasure,

That will none of it.

Come, love, through the woods of spring,

Come walk with me;

Listen, the sweet birds jargoning

From tree to tree.

List and listen, over all

Nightingale most musical

That ceases never;

Grief begone, and let us be

For a space as glad as he;

Time's flitting ever.

Old Time, that loves not lovers, wears

Wings swift in flight;

All our happy life he bears

Far in the night.

Old and wrinkled on a day,

Sad and weary shall you say,

'Ah, fool was I,

That took no pleasure in the grace

Of the flower that from my face

Time has seen die.'

Leave then sorrow, teen, and tears

Till we be old;

Young we are, and of our years

Till youth be cold

Pluck the flower; while spring is gay

In this happy month of May

Love me, love;

Fill our joy in brimming measure;

In this world he hath no pleasure

That will none thereof.