nor my desire,

And when she looks on me

It seems to me

I lose all wit and sense.

The noblest girls men love

’Gainst her I prize not as a glove

Worn and old.

Though the whole world run rack

And go dark with cloud,

Light is

Where she stands,

And a clamour loud

in my ears.

IV

Vergier

In orchard under the hawthorne

She has her lover till morn,

Till the traist man cry out to warn

Them. God how swift the night,

And day comes on.

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