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
In Averil, I wene;
And blossoms to spring up, in April;
(And) love is to min herte gon
And so love has shot through my heart
With one spere so kene:
With a spear so honed
Night and day my blod it drinkes;
That night and day it drinks my blood
Min herte deth me tene.
And my heart grieves.
Ich have loved all this year
All this year I have loved
That I may love namore;
The one I can love no more;
Ich have siked mony sik,
Do ingles antigo para o atual:
When the nightegale singes,
When the nightingale sings,
The wodes waxen grene:
And the woods wax green:
Lef and grass and blosme springes
I expect, the leaves and the blades of grass,
I have sighed so many sighs,
Lemmon, for thin ore.
Sweetheart, for your favour.
Me nis love never the ner,
Love will never be any closer to me,
And that me reweth sore.
And I rue that intensely.
Swete lemmon, thench on me:
Sweetheart, think about me:
Ich have loved thee yore.
I have loved you such a long time.
Swete lemmon, I preye thee
Dear sweetheart, I beg you,
Of love one speche.
For one word of love.
Whil I live in world so wide
As long as I live I will not seek