Sunday, April 29, 2018

A few early SPRING poems

Majus after Joachim von Sandrart (1606–1688)

Lenten ys come with love to toune,
With blosmen & with briddes roune,
That al this blisse bryngeth;
Dayes eyes in this dales,
Notes suete of nyhtegales;
        Uch foul song singeth....
        —Anonymous Medieval Lyric (c1310)

Whan that Aprille with his showres sote
The droght of Marche had perced to the rote...
And smale fowles maken melodye....
        —Chaucer, General Prologue,
           Canterbury Tales (late 14C)

Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,
          Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
        —Thomas Nashe, Spring (c1590)

May never was the month of love,
    For May is full of flowers;
But rather April, wet by kind,
    For love is full of showers.
        —Robert Southwell, Love's Servile Lot (late 16C)