The Fragrant Wood c. 11th century

My hope, my love, we will go
Into the woods, scattering the dews,
Where we will behold the salmon, and 
       the ousel in its nest,
The deer, and the roebuck calling;


The sweetest bird on the branches 
       singing,
The cuckoo on the top of the green hill;
And death shall never find us
In the bosom of the fragrant wood.