WHY YE BLOSSOME COMETH BEFORE YE LEAFE.
Once hoary Winter chanced—alas!
Alas! hys waye mistaking,
A leafless apple tree to pass
Where Spring lay dreaming. “Fie ye lass!
Ye lass had best be waking,”
Quoth he, and shook hys robe, and lo!
Lo! forth didde flye a cloud of snowe.