Than summer's whole treasure

Can be:

What am I that his thought should take pleasure,

Then, in me?

I am only my love's

True lover,

With a nestful of songs, like doves

Under cover,

That I bring in my cap

Fresh caught,

To be laid on my small king's lap—

Worth just nought.

Yet it haply may hap

That he,

When the mirth in his veins is as sap

In a tree,

350 Will remember me too

350

Some day

Ere the transit be thoroughly through

 Prev. P 31/50 next