"To telle his might my wit may not suffice, For he can make of wise folke ful nice, For he may don al that he wol devise, And lither folke to destroien vice, And proude hertes he can make agrise. "And shortly al that ever he wol he may, Ayenes him dare no wight saye nay: For he can glade and greve whom he liketh: And whoso that he wol, he lougheth or siketh, And most his might he shedeth ever in May. "For every true gentle herte fre That with him is or thinketh for to be Ayenes May shal have now som stering, Other to joie or elles to som mourning; In no seson so moch as thinketh me. "For whan they maye here the briddes singe, And se the floures and the leves springe, That bringeth into hire rememberaunce A maner ese, medled with grevaunce, And lusty thoughtes fulle of gret longinge. "And of that longinge cometh hevinesse, And therof groweth oft gret sekenesse, Al for lackinge of that that they desire; And thus in May ben hertes sette on fire, So that they brennen forth in gret distresse." WORDSWORTH. "The God of love! Ah, benedicite, How mighty and how great a lord is he, For he of low hearts can make high, of high He can make low and unto death bring nigh, And hard hearts he can make them kind and free. "Within a little time, as hath been found, He can make sick folk whole, and fresh, and sound. Them who are whole in body and in mind He can make sick, bind can he and unbind All that he will have bound, or have unbound. "To tell his might my wit may not suffice, Foolish men he can make them out of wise; For he may do all that he will devise, Loose livers he can make abate their vice, And proud hearts can make tremble in a trice. "In brief, the whole of what he will, he may; Against him dare not any wight say nay; To humble or afflict whome'er he will, To gladden or to grieve, he hath like skill; But most his might he sheds on the eve of May. "For every true heart, gentle heart and free, That with him is, or thinketh so to be, Now against May shall have some stirring--whether To joy, or be it to some mourning; never At other time, methinks, in like degree. "For now when they may hear the small birds' song, And see the budding leaves the branches throng, This unto their rememberance doth bring All kinds of pleasure, mix'd with sorrowing, And longing of sweet thoughts that ever long. "And of that longing heaviness doth come, Whence oft great sickness grows of heart and home; Sick are they all for lack of their desire; And thus in May their hearts are set on fire, So that they burn forth in great martyrdom."