Читать книгу Come Hither: A Collection of Rhymes and Poems for the Young of All Ages - Various - Страница 25

... And as for me, thogh that I can but lyte,[3]

On bokės for to rede I me delyte,

And to hem yeve[4] I feyth and ful credènce,

And in myn herte have hem in reverence

So hertėley, that there is gamė noon

That fro my bokės maketh me to goon,

But hit be seldom on the holyday,

Save, certeynly, whan that the month of May

Is comen, and that I here the foulės[5] singe

And that the flourės ginnen for to springe,—

Farewel my boke, and my devocioun!

Now have I than swich[6] a condicioun,

That, of alle the flourės in the mede,

Than love I most these flourės whyte and rede,

Swiche as men callen daysies in our toun.

To hem have I so greet affeccioun,

As I seyde erst, whan comen is the May,

That in my bed ther daweth me no day,

That I nam up, and walking in the mede,

To seen this flour agein the sonnė sprede,

When hit uprysith erly by the morwe;

That blisful sightė softneth all my sorwė[7]....

And whan that hit is eve, I rennė blyve,[8]

As soon as evere the sonnė ginneth weste,

To seen this flour, how it wol go to reste,

For fere of nyght, so hateth she derknesse!...

Geoffrey Chaucer

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