Is melancholy part of me to stay,
Or may times happy scare him to parts far?
I do not wish this snowy, tranquil day
To be turned raw ‘til night bring sky of star.
I must my work do all the day with speed
But pleasure possible doth seem to me.
What remedy plain may bring fast the deed
To turn myself toward brighter day to see?
I know: Of Paul I’ll think and there will be
The pleasure of a moment’s rest to find.
‘Tis not my will of work so full of me
That love’s sweet joy cannot lift mood in rhyme.
‘Tis best to balance joy with work, you’ll see
A drudge so sad I would not make of me.