WAke now my loue, awake; for it is time, <br />The Rosy Morne long since left Tithones bed, <br />All ready to her siluer coche to clyme, <br />And Phoebus gins to shew his glorious hed. <br />Hark how the cheerefull birds do chaunt theyr laies <br />And carroll of loues praise. <br />The merry Larke hir mattins sings aloft, <br />The thrush replyes, the Mauis descant playes, <br />The Ouzell shrills, the Ruddock warbles soft, <br />So goodly all agree with sweet content, <br />To this dayes merriment. <br />Ah my deere loue why doe ye sleepe thus long, <br />When meeter were that ye should now awake, <br />T'awayt the comming of your ioyous make, <br />And hearken to the birds louelearned song, <br />The deawy leaues among. <br />For they of ioy and pleasance to you sing, <br />That all the woods them answer & theyr eccho ring.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/poem-5-2/
