Sing me a song, and make it sweet as the wine I sit and sip,
No dear hymn that God woulds't hear from thy divine lip
No tune of sorrow, no lament, for heroes of old days
For theirs were wicked times, and most unfaithful ways
But, sing for me, a newer tune, of love and hope and light
Sing for me some sweet song to make my spirit bright
Duller than my once-noble blade, and fainter than the kiss
Of that devilish young peasant-maid, I now do sorely miss
Play upon your lyre, my serf, and bid Peace be with me
No troubles shall disturb my thoughts, my mind shall be set free
Oh, you who wish with every breath that you were in my place
I hear it in your lark-like voice, I see it in your face
But, you are Laughter's daughter, and cannot understand
How I can miss those desperate times, for right I stood and stand
Yet, now old Age has taken me, and I am bent with shame
But, through those songs of my young years, they shall recall my name