Mis Suete Leofe (Written In Early English)
Poem By Peter Jones
I betacht mis suete leof
somme dayes-eyes for a kisse
and to the song of the munde woderove
she betacht me one; sicht blis.
Ant said I tristou more than weole
you nulle mak me tene.
The derne of leof is ferly wille
and ful horre ist now fleme.
She waxeth grene in blosme springe
that I live namore.
Suete lemmon, you that made me kynge
and you are leofed sore.
The nyhtegales singeth wel
as leof, it striketh stille
and al my wode it ringeth wunne
for al bossom miles wille.
I gave to my sweet love some daisies for a kiss
and to the joyful song of the woodruffe she gave me one - -such bliss
and said I trust you more than wealth you will not make me grieve
the secret of love is wondrous joy and foul mists are now put to flight.
She has become green in spring blossom that I may live forever
Sweet mistress, you made me king and I love you so much.
The nightingales sing so well as love is flowing still
and all my wood rings with joy and for all content wild creatures.