And thy smock of linen fine,

     Then these fair white limbs of thine,

     Did he look on, and it fell

     That the palmer straight was well,

     Straight was hale—and comforted,

     And he rose up from his bed,

     And went back to his own place,

     Sound and strong, and full of face!

     My sweet lady, lily white,

     Sweet thy footfall, sweet thine eyes,

     And the mirth of thy replies.

     Sweet thy laughter, sweet thy face,

     Sweet thy lips and sweet thy brow,

     And the touch of thine embrace.

     Who but doth in thee delight?

     I for love of thee am bound

     In this dungeon underground,

     All for loving thee must lie

     Here where loud on thee I cry,

     Here for loving thee must die

 Prev. P 22/54 next