When the nightegale singes 

And the wodes waxen grene 

Lef and grass and blosme springes 

In Averil, I wene 

(And) love is to min herte gon 

With one spere so kene 

Night and day my blod it drinkes 

Min herte deth me tene 



Ich have loved all this year 

That I may love namore 

Ich have siked mony sik 

Lemmon, for thin ore 

Me nis love never the ner 

And that me reweth sore 

Swete lemmon, thench on me 

Ich have loved thee yore 



Swete lemmon, I preye thee 

Of love one speche 

Whil I live in world so wide 

Other nulle I seche 

With thy love, my swete leof 

My bliss thou mightest eche 

A swete cos of thy mouth 

Mighte be my leche 



Swete lemmon, I preye thee 

Of a love-bene 

If thou me lovest, as men says 

Lemmon as I wene 

And if it thy wille be 

Thou loke that it be sene 

So muchel I thenke upon thee 

That all I waxe grene