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All cocks in spring season in jovial mood,
Make gleeful notes forgetting old worry,
Why in lovely weather with me you rude,
All my evil days in the love grave I burry.
Your thinking changes with the season,
My loving heart be-weeps lone on the bed,
I believe in fate yea! There is a reason.
My love willful wills I see them all dead.
What is luck? Nothing but a written will,
Unchanged may be changed like a truant,
As the tramps taught by kind motherly bill,
If heavenly muse in leisure you grant.
My muse flies with the wings of Muse,
Flying powers into soul your kisses infuse.
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