Here you will find the Poem The Nightingale of poet Bernard de Ventadorn
When grass grows green, and fresh leaves spring, And flowers are budding on the plain, When nightingales so sweetly sing, And through the greenwood swells the strain, Then joy I in the song and in the flower, Joy in myself, but in my lady more; All objects round my spirit turns to joy, But most from her my rapture rises high.
