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Poem	In the glad springtime 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!
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