Mirie it is while sumer y-last
With fugheles son
Oc nu neheth windes blast
And weder strong.
Ei, ei! What this nicht is long
And ich with wel michel wrong
Soregh and murne and fast.
Mirie It Is
(13th century English)
How days of summer
filled with birdsong end
and all my pleasure’s cut
by winter’s heralds,
cold and wind.
And now the nights
are harsh and long;
my heart aches
from sorrow, grief,
and hunger’s pangs.
NM
NM
