The Nightingale Poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
The Nightingale
Rating: ★2.9
When grass grows green, and fresh leaves spring,
And flowers are budding on the plain,
When nightingales so sweetly sing,
And through the greenwood swells the strain,
Then joy I in the song and in the flower,
Joy in myself, but in my lady more;
All objects round my spirit turns to joy,
But most from her my rapture rises high.
Friday, April 16, 2010
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11/14/2024 2:21:54 AM # 1.0.0
