The small fowlis in flokkis saw I flee,
To Nature makand greit lamentatioun.
Thay lychtit doun besyde me on ane tree,
Of thair complaynt I had compassioun;
And with ane pieteous exclamatioun
Thay said, “Blyssit be Somer, with his flouris;
And waryit[46] be thow, Wynter, with thy schouris!”
“Allace! Aurora,” the syllie[47] Larke can crye,
“Quhare hes thou left thy balmy liquour sweit
That us rejosit, we mounting in the skye?