How shall I tell the secret of your soul

Which then I blindly guessed, or how cajole

My boyhood's ancient folly to declare

Now in my wisdom the dear maid you were,

Though such the truth?

Griselda's early days

Of married life were not that fitful maze

Of tears and laughter which betoken aught,

Changed or exchanged, of pain with pleasure bought,

15

Of maiden freedom conquered and subdued,

Of hopes new born and fears of womanhood.

Those who then saw Griselda saw a child

Well pleased and happy, thoughtlessly beguiled

By every simplest pleasure of her age,

Gay as a bird just issued from its cage,

When every flower is sweet. No eye could trace

Doubt or disquiet written on her face,

Where none there was. And, if the truth be told,

Griselda grieved not that Lord L. was old.

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