Early astir in this midsummer time
In the Queen's close, sweet hour in this sweet clime,
I stray at will to hear the throstle sing
Among the trees that round her garden cling;
I, Ronsard, in my youthood's joyous prime,
And by the Queen's desire, beneath the lime
She loves, to sing to her again the rhyme,
The daintiest of all the rhymes I bring,
My rhyme of Love.

But yet despite this July's leafy time,
The Queen's praise, birds' songs, odourous rose and thyme,
This heartache close to me, so close, will cling
Because, forsooth, the blue-eyed Lize took wing
When I yestreen began my daintiest rhyme,
My rhyme of Love.