  Good my king, in your garden close, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) Why so sad when the maiden rose Love at your feet is spilling? Golden the air and honey-sweet, Sapphire the sky, it is not meet Sorrowful faces should flowers greet, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) All alone walks the king to-day, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) Far from the throne he steals away Loneness and quiet willing. Roses and tulips and lilies fair Smile for his pleasure everywhere, Yet of their joyaunce he takes no share, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) Ladies wait in the palace, Sire, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) Red and white for the king’s desire Lovewarm and sweet and thrilling, Breasts of moonshine and hair of night, Glances amorous soft and bright, Nothing is lacking for thy delight, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) Kneels the king in a grassy place, (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) Little flowers under his face With his warm tears are filling: Says the king, “Here my heart lies dead Where my fair love is buried, Would I were lying here instead!” (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) |
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