Balleta

I AM young and fain to sing In this happy tide of spring Of love and many a gentle thing, I wander through green meadows dight With blossoms gold and red and white; Rose by the thorn and lily fair, Both one and all I do compare With him who, worshipping my charms, For aye would fold me in his arms As one unto his service sworn. Then, when I find a flower that seems Like to the object of my dreams, I gather it and kiss it there, I flatter it in accents fair, My heart outpour, my soul stoop down, Then weave it in a fragrant crown Among my flaxen locks to wear. The rapture nature's floweret gay Awakes in me doth last alway, As if I tarried face to face With him whose true love is my grace; Thoughts which its fragrancy inspires I cannot frame to my desires, My sighs their pilgrimage do trace. My sights are neither harsh nor sad As other women's are, but glad And tender; in so fond a wise They seek my love that he replies By coming hither, and so gives Delight to her who in him lives Yet almost wept: "Come, for hope dies."