the nightingale
so soon as april bringeth
unto her rested sense a perfect waking
while late bare earth
proud of new clothing springeth
sings out her woes a thorn her song book making
and mournfully bewailing
her throat in tunes expresseth
what grief her breast expresseth
so soon as april bringeth
unto her rested sense a perfect waking
while late bare earth
proud of new clothing springeth
sings out her woes a thorn her song book making
and mournfully bewailing
her throat in tunes expresseth
what grief her breast expresseth