When's my next ballad? Northwind speaks; I heed.
April impends. My angry thoughts recede.

Strange are the stars that light my winding way:
Give me the moon, and fields where lovers play.

What's heaven's name? I see the silver pond.
A bird's soft voice invites me to be fond.

In what house can I find my joy? The sky
Brings lucent constellations to my eye.

Muses, by all the whiskers on my chin,
Play me a song that makes new life begin.