Now each flowery bank of May

Now each flowery bank of May,

Woos the streams that glides away,

Mountains fann'd by a sweet gale,

Loves the humble looking Dale.

Windes the loved leaves do kiss,

Each thing tasteth of loves bliss.

Only I thought blest I be, by destiny.

Love confessed by her sweet breath,

Whose love is life, whose hate is death.