Come then with me, I’ll take you, for I know
Where the first hedgethorns and white windflowers blow:
We two alone, that goes without the saying.
The month has treacherous clouds and moves in fears.
This April shames the month itself with smiles:
In whose new eyes I know no heaven of tears,
But still serene desire and between whiles,
So great a look that even April’s grace
Makes only marvel at her only face.