Sunday, July 6

Lenten ys come with loue to toune


Lenten ys come with loue to toune,
With blosmen ant with briddes roune,
That al this blisse bryngeth.
Dayeseyes in this dales,


Spring has arrived, with love,
With flowers, and with birdsong,
Bringing all this joy.
Daisies in the valleys,

5 Notes suete of nyhtegales,
Vch foul song singeth.
The threstelcoc him threteth oo;
Away is huere wynter wo
When woderoue springeth.
The sweet notes of nightingales,
Every bird sings a song.
The thrush is constantly wrangling;
Their winter misery is gone
When the woodruff flowers.
10 This foules singeth ferly fele
Ant wlyteth on huere [wynne] wele
That al the wode ryngeth.
These birds sing in great numbers,
And chirp about their wealth of joys,
So that all the wood rings.



We've decided that the thrush is quite a comedy singer - there are a lot of clownish ideas in the melody. The nightingale I haven't heard for several years but seems more serious and sad. My favourite is the bebop blakeburrde.
We have rampant woodruffe growing in the garden - smells wonderful when dry. It grows worse than a weede.

miss rika said...

I am jealous. There are times I wish America had kept their mouths shut about independence . . . for one thing, we might get a decent cup of tea now and again.

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