Does anyone seek the soul of mirth,
Let him hie in the greenwood tree,
And there, beneath the verdant shade,
The bloom of the summer see;
For there sing the birds right merrily,
And there will be the bounding heart upspring
To the lofty clouds on joyful wing.
On the hedgerows spring a thousand flowers,
And he, from whose heart sweet May
Hath banished care, finds many a joy,
And I, too, would be gay,
Were the load of pining care away;
Were my lady kind, my soul were light,
Joy crowning joy would raise its flight.
The flowers, leaves, hills, the vale, and mead,
And May with all its light,
Compared with the roses, are pale indeed,
Which my lady bears; and bright
My eyes will shine, as they meet my sight,
Those beautiful lips of rosy hue,
As red as the rose just steeped in dew.