Ase a launterne anight Hire be blikieth so bright So fair he is and fine Swetly swire he hath to holde With armes, shuldre ase mon wolde And fingres faire for to folde God wolde she were mine Blow, northerne wind Send thou me my sweting Blow, northerne wind Blow, blow, blow! To Love I putte pleintes mo How Siking me hath siwed so And eke Thoght me thrat to slo With maistry yef he mighte And Sorewe sore in balful bende The he wolde for this hende Me lede to my lives ende Unlahfulliche in lighte Blow, northerne wind Send thou me my sweting Blow, northerne wind Blow, blow, blow!
HATA BİLDİR
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