Classic Poem

The little pretty nightingale
Among the leaves grene:
I would I were with her all night —
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.

The nightingale sat on a brere
Among the thornes sharpe and keene.
And comfort me with merry chere —
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.

She did appear all on her kind
A lady right well to be seene.
With words of love told me her mind —
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.

It did me good upon her to look,
Her corse was clothed all in grene;
Away fro me her heart she took —
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.

" Lady, " I cry'd with rufull mone,
" Have mind of me that true hath bene:
For I love none but you alone. " —
But yet ye wot not whom I mene.