47 
Save certainly, whan that the month of Maie 
Is comen, and that I heare the foules sing, 
And that the floures ginnen for to spring, 
Farewell my booke, and my devocion : 
Now have I than eke this condicion, 
That of all the floures in the mede 
Than love I most these flowres white and rede, 
Soch that men callen Daisies in our toun. 
To hem I have so great affectioun, 
As I sayd erst, when comen is the Maie, 
That in my bedde there daweth me no daie. 
That I n’am up and walking in the mede 
To see this floure ayenst the Sunne spredej 
Whan it up riseth early by the morrow. 
That blissful sight softeneth all my sorrow. 
So glad am I, whan that I have presence 
Of it to done it alle reverence. 
As she that is of all floures the floure. 
Fulfilled of all vertue and honoure, 
And ever ylike faire, and fresh of hewe. 
And ever I love it, and ever ylike newe. 
And ever shall, till that mine herte die, 
Alle sweare I not, of this 1 wool not lie : 
He then tells how, at evening, he goes to watch. 
As soon as ever the Sunne ginnetii west 
To seen this floure, how it will goe to rest. 
For feare of night, so hateth she darknesse. 
Her chere is plainly spred in the brightness 
Of the Sunne, for there it woll unclose: 
He then coini^lains that he has neither, rhyme nor prose “ suf- 
fisaunt this floure to praise aright,” and describes his eagerness 
to go forth into the fields before sunrise, to wait the resurec- 
tion” of the day’s-eye. 
