名人诗歌|Ballads and Lyrics of Old France (61)

I'LL never be a nun^{1, I trow, While apple bloom is white as snow, But far more fair to see； I'll never wear nun's black and white While nightingales make sweet the night Within the apple tree.}

Ah, listen！ 'tis the nightingale, And in the wood he makes his wail^{2, Within the apple tree； He singeth of the sore distress3 Of many ladies loverless； Thank God, no song for me.}

For when the broad May moon is low, A gold fruit seen where blossoms blow In the boughs^{4 of the apple tree, A step I know is at the gate； Ah love, but it is long to wait Until night's noon bring thee！}

Between lark's song and nightingale's A silent space, while dawning pales, The birds leave still and free For words and kisses musical, For silence and for sighs that fall In the dawn, 'twixt him and me.