In sooth, I speak from feeling, what though now
Old am I, and to genial pleasure slow;
Yet have I felt of sickness through the May,
Both hot and cold, and heart-aches every day, -
How hard, alas! to bear, I only know.

9.
Such shaking doth the fever in me keep,
Through all this May that I have little sleep;
And also 'tis not likely unto me,
That any living heart should sleepy be
In which love's dart its fiery point doth steep.

10.
But tossing lately on a sleepless bed,
I of a token thought which lovers heed;
How among them it was a common tale,
That it was good to hear the nightingale,
Ere the vile cuckoo's note be uttered.

11.
And then I thought anon as it was day,
I gladly would go somewhere to essay
If I perchance a nightingale might hear,
For yet had I heard none, of all that year,
And it was then the third night of the May.

12.
And soon as I a glimpse of day espied,
No longer would I in my bed abide,