the forlorn maid in springtime

The Forlorn Maid in Springtime

The west wind gusts soft;

the warming sun grows.

Now earth bares her breasts

and sweetness overflows.

Spring steps decked in purple,

wearing her royal gems.

She scatters flowers on the ground,

leaves on woodland limbs.

Beasts ready birthing lairs

and gentle birds their nests,

trilling their rightful pleasure

from trees' flowering crests.

I've ears to hear such things,

and I have these eyes ---

but, oh, in place of their joys,

I am racked with sighs.

I sit alone, brooding

and chilled and drear,

and if, by chance, I look up,

nothing I see or hear.

You, though, for the sake of spring,

go listen, go learn

from leaves, from blooms and meadows.

My spirit lags. I yearn.

--- anonymous, c. 1000

(my translation)