SPRING - Amy Levy Poems

SPRING

  Lenten ys come with love to toun{.e},
With blosmen and with bridd{.e}s roun{.e},
    That al this bliss{.e} bryngeth;
Dayes-ey{.e}s in this dal{.e}s;
Not{.e}s suete of nyht{.e}gal{.e}s;
    Uch foul song singeth.
The threstelcoc him threteth oo;
Away is huer{.e} wynter woo,
    When woderov{.e} springeth.
This foul{.e}s singeth ferly fel{.e},
And wlyteth on huere wynter wel{.e},
    That al the wod{.e} ryngeth.

  The ros{.e} rayleth hir{.e} rode;
The lev{.e}s on the lyht{.e} wod{.e}
    Waxen al with will{.e}.
The mon{.e} mandeth hir{.e} bleo;
The lili{.e} is lossom to seo,
    The fenyl and the fill{.e}.
Wow{.e}s this wild{.e} drak{.e}s;
Mil{.e}s murgeth huer{.e} mak{.e}s;
    Ase strem that striketh still{.e},
Mody meneth, so doth mo;
Ichot ycham on of tho,
    For love that lik{.e}s ill{.e}.

  The mon{.e} mandeth hir{.e} lyht,
So doth the semly sonn{.e} bryht,
    When bridd{.e}s singeth brem{.e}.
Deaw{.e}s donketh the doun{.e}s;
Deor{.e}s with huere dern{.e} roun{.e}s,
    Dom{.e}s fort{.e} dem{.e};
Worm{.e}s woweth under cloud{.e};
Wymmen waxeth wounder proud{.e},
    So wel hit wol hem sem{.e}.
Yef me shal wont{.e} wille of on,
This wunn{.e} weole y wole forgon,
    Ant wyht in wode be flem{.e}.

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