"For whan they mayè here the briddès singe, And se the flourès and the levès springe, That bringeth into hire rememberaunce A maner esè, medled with grevaunce, And lusty thoughtès fulle of gret longinge.
"And of that longinge cometh hevinesse, And therof groweth oft gret sekenesse, Al for lackinge of that that they desire; And thus in May ben hertès sette on fire, So that they brennen forth in gret distresse."
Wordsworth.
"The God of love! Ah, benedicite, How mighty and how great a lord is he, For he of low hearts can make high, of high He can make low and unto death bring nigh, And hard hearts he can make them kind and free.
"Within a little time, as hath been found, He can make sick folk whole, and fresh, and sound. Them who are whole in body and in mind He can make sick, bind can he and unbind All that he will have bound, or have unbound.
"To tell his might my wit may not suffice, Foolish men he can make them out of wise; For he may do all that he will devise, Loose livers he can make abate their vice, And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice.
"In brief, the whole of what he will, he may; Against him dare not any wight say nay; To humble or afflict whome'er he will, To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill; But most his might he sheds on the eve of May.
"For every true heart, gentle heart and free, That with him is, or thinketh so to be, Now against May shall have some stirring—whether To joy, or be it to some mourning; never At other time, methinks, in like degree.
"For now when they may hear the small birds' song, And see the budding leaves the branches throng, This unto their rememberance doth bring All kinds of pleasure, mix'd with sorrowing, And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long.
"And of that longing heaviness doth come, Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and home; Sick are they all for lack of their desire; And thus in May their hearts are set on fire, So that they burn forth in great martyrdom."