It was the morning of the first of May,
  Into the close I went to pluck a flower;
  And there I found a bird of woodland gay,
  Who whiled with songs of love the silent hour. 
  O bird, who fliest from fair Florence, how
  Dear love begins, I prithee teach me now!—­
  Love it begins with music and with song,
  And ends with sorrow and with sighs ere long.

Love at first sight is described (p. 79):—­

  The very moment that we met,
  That moment love began to beat: 
  One glance of love we gave, and swore
  Never to part for evermore;
  We swore together, sighing deep,
  Never to part till Death’s long sleep.

Here too is a memory of the first days of love (p. 79):—­

  If I remember, it was May
  When love began between us two: 
  The roses in the close were gay,
  The cherries blackened on the bough. 
  O cherries black and pears so green! 
  Of maidens fair you are the queen. 
  Fruit of black cherry and sweet pear! 
  Of sweethearts you’re the queen, I swear.

The troth is plighted with such promises as these (p. 230):—­

  Or ere I leave you, love divine,
  Dead tongues shall stir and utter speech,
  And running rivers flow with wine,
  And fishes swim upon the beach;
  Or ere I leave or shun you, these
  Lemons shall grow on orange-trees.

The girl confesses her love after this fashion (p. 86):—­

  Passing across the billowy sea,
  I let, alas, my poor heart fall;
  I bade the sailors bring it me;
  They said they had not seen it fall. 
  I asked the sailors, one and two;
  They said that I had given it you. 
  I asked the sailors, two and three;
  They said that I had given it thee. 
It is not uncommon to speak of love as a sea.  Here is a curious play upon this image (p. 227):—­

  Ho, Cupid!  Sailor Cupid, ho! 
  Lend me awhile that bark of thine;
  For on the billows I will go,
  To find my love who once was mine: 
  And if I find her, she shall wear
  A chain around her neck so fair,
  Around her neck a glittering bond,
  Four stars, a lily, a diamond.

It is also possible that the same thought may occur in the second line of the next ditty (p. 120):—­

  Beneath the earth I’ll make a way
  To pass the sea and come to you. 
  People will think I’m gone away;
  But, dear, I shall be seeing you. 
  People will say that I am dead;
  But we’ll pluck roses white and red: 
  People will think I’m lost for aye;
  But we’ll pluck roses, you and I.

All the little daily incidents are beautified by love.  Here is a lover who thanks the mason for making his window so close upon the road that he can see his sweetheart as she passes (p. 118):—­

  Blest be the mason’s hand who built
  This house of mine by the roadside,
  And made my window low and wide
  For me to watch my love go by. 
  And if I knew when she went by,
  My window should be fairly gilt;
  And if I knew what time she went,
  My window should be flower-besprent.