In the glad spring when leaves were green,

O merrily the throstle sings!

I sought, amid the tangled sheen,

Love whom mine eyes had never seen,

O the glad dove has golden wings!

Between the blossoms red and white,

O merrily the throstle sings!

My love first came into my sight,

O perfect vision of delight,

O the glad dove has golden wings!

The yellow apples glowed like fire.

O merrily the throstle sings!

O Love too great for lip or lyre,

Blown rose of love and of desire,

O the glad dove has golden wings!

But now with snow the tree is grey

Ah, sadly now the throstle sings!

My love is dead: ah! well-a-day,

See at her silent feet I lay

A dove with broken wings!

Ah, Love! ah, Love! that thou wert slain—

Fond Dove, fond Dove return again.

Magdalen College,Oxford