(For Musk)
In the glad springtime when leaves were green,
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,
Between the blossoms red and white,
My love first came into my sight,
O perfect vision of delight,
The yellow apples glowed like fire,
O Love too great for lip or lyre,
Blown rose of love and of desire,
But now with snow the tree is grey,
My love is dead: ah! Well-a-day,
See at her silent feet I lay
Fond Dove, fond Dove return again!