The soote season
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he soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale.The nightingale with feathers new she sings;The turtle to her make hath told her tale.Summer is come, for every spray now springs.The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;The fishes float with new repairèd scale;The adder all her slough away she slings;The swift swallow pursueth the fliès small;The busy bee her honey now she mings.Winter is worn, that was the flowers' bale.And thus I see among these pleasant things,Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.
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