Classic Poem

" It was the morning of the first of May,
Into the close I went to pluck a flower;
And there I found a bird of woodland gay,
Who whiled with songs of love the silent hour.
O bird, who fliest from fair Florence, how
Dear love begins, I prithee teach me now! —
Love it begins with music and with song,
And ends with sorrow and with sighs ere long. "