Classic Poem

Betwene Mersh and Averil,
When spray beginneth to springe,
The lutel fowl hath hire will
On hire lud to singe,
Ich libbe in love-longinge
For semlokest of alle thinge —
He may me blisse bringe;
Ich am in hire baundoun.
An hendy hap ich-habbe ihent!
Ichot from Hevene it is me sent.
From alle wimmen my love is lent,
And light on Alisoun.

On hew hire her is fair inogh,
Hire browe browne, hire eye blake;
With lossum chere he on me logh,
With middle small and well imake.
Bote he me wolle to hire take,
For to ben hire owen make,
Longe to liven ichulle forsake,
And feye fallen adoun.

Nightes when I wende and wake —
Forthy mine wonges waxeth won —
Levedy, all for thine sake.
Longinge is ilent me on.
In world nis non so witer mon
That all hire bounte telle con:
Hire swire is whittore then the swon,
And fairest may in toun.

Ich am for wowing all forwake,
Wery so water in wore,
Lest eny reve me my make,
Ich habbe iyimed yore.
Betere is tholien while sore
Then mournen evenmore,
Geynest under gore,
Herkne to my roun!