Classic Poem

This month of May, one pleasant eventide,
I heard a young girl singing on the green;
I came upon her where the ways divide,
And said: “God keep you maiden from all teen.

“Maiden, the God of love you keep and save,
And give you all your heart desires,” I cried.
Then she: “Pray tell me, gentle sir and brave,
Whither you wend this pleasant eventide?”

“To you I come, a lover leal and true,
To tell you all my hope and all my care;
Your love alone is what I seek; than you
No woman ever seemed to me more fair.”