1. The willow trees luxuriant grow. Who is not glad himself to throw Beneath their shade to rest? And so to our great sovereign's court The feudal lords should oft resort, And feel supremely blessed. But he whom we all deemed a god Is so uncertain in his nod, That they his presence shun. Near him alone I dare not go. Were I at court myself to show, And of his troubles take the charge, His calls on me would be so large, That I should be undone.

2. Luxuriant grow the willow trees; Beneath their shade one often sees Large crowds at ease reclined. So should the king his grace extend, And to his court the princes bend Their steps with willing mind. But he, whom as a god we viewed, Is so uncertain in his mood, That they dare not appear. For me I should but court distress, If I alone were to address Myself to take his cares in hand; He would so much of me demand, I'd live in constant fear.

3. The birds now on the trees alight, Then spread their wings in sudden flight, And soar aloft to heaven; So does the king his purpose change, From one thing to another range, As by his fancies driven. His heart we cannot fathom well, Nor can we any moment tell To what he will proceed. The task why should I undertake, And vainly the endeavor make, His grievous troubles to redress? 'Twould only cause me sore distress, And to my misery lead.