Again appears the cheerful May,
On many a heart its joy it pours,
A thousand flowers their sweets display,
And what more blooming than the bowers?
Sweet is the various music there,
New clad in leaves the wild woods are,
And many a pensive heart this hour to joy restores.
And all the live-long day I’ll strive
For favour in my lady’s eyes;
And must I die in gloom, nor live
To win and wear that peerless prize,
Yet am I still consol’d to know
That she the death-wound doth bestow,
That from her rosy lips the fatal sentence flies.
(Otto IV)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Joy & Excitement PoemsBased on Keywords: death-wound, consol