O Mayde more tender yet Than shy sweet buds that wakeOn rose-trees dewy wet When first the daye doth break,That from the thorny speareHalf green, half red doe peere;
Faster than ivy clyngs With supple stems entwyn'dRound the stout oak in ryngs A hundred-fold that byndWith their fond arms and slymThe whole wide girth of hym,
Round me, O faire and fond, Let thyne arms make a ryng;Link fast the gentle bond Of thy sweet tetheryng;Let kysses givn and ta'enFor evermore remayne.
Not tyme nor envious dread Of other love more meetShall fynd me sunderéd From thy sweet lips, my sweet.Thus kissynge will we dwellTill lyfe bid us farewell.
The same moon, the same daye, And the same hour we twoShall wander far awaye, Death's pallid house to view,And those faire fields out-spreadFor lovers haply wed.
Love's self amid the flow'rs Of everlastynge spryngeShall watch these loves of ours, Under the green boughs clynge;And we shall knowe the goodOf gentle loverhood.
In fields of sedge and thyme, Along the level grounde,With many a mazy chyme Accordant airs shall sounde;While, featly to these tunesA dancer swayes and swoones.
There heaven's unclouded space Shynes ever with clear light;No serpent thro' the maze pits venom in its spite;For ever in those treesBirds synge their melodies;
Soft wyndes for ever goe With gentle sound a-styr,For ever laurels throwe Their coolynge shadowe there;There lovely flowers do swayeThat never fade awaye.
Somewhere in the wyde space This happye garden coversWe two shall fynde our place Amid the throngynge lovers,Unwearied as theseIn love's sweet ecstasies.
