hese many years,
They will not shudder with a kiss
As once they did, being moist with tears.

Also her hands have lost that way
Of clinging that they used to have;
They look'd quite easy, as they lay
Upon the silken cushions brave

With broidery of the apples green
My Lord Duke bears upon his shield.
Her face, alas! that I have seen
Look fresher than an April field,

This is all gone now; gone also
Her tender walking; when she walks
She is most queenly I well know,
And she is fair still. As the stalks

Of faded summer-lilies are,
So is she grown now unto me
This spring-time, when the flowers star
The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.

I warrant once she used to cling
About his neck, and kiss'd him so,
And then his coming step would ring
Joy-bells for her; some time ago.

Ah! sometimes like an idle dream
That hinders true life overmuch,
Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem.
This love is not so hard to smutch.

THE GILLIFLOWER OF GOLD

A golden gilliflower to-day
I wore upon my helm alway,
And won the prize of this tourney.
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

However well Sir Giles might sit,
His sun was weak to wither it,
Lord Miles's blood was dew on it:
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

Although my spear in splinters flew,
From John's steel-coat, my eye was true;
I wheel'd about, and cried for you,
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

Yea, do not doubt my heart was good,
Though my sword flew like rotten wood,
To shout, although I scarcely stood,
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

My hand was steady too, to take
My axe from round my neck, and break
John's steel-coat up for my love's sake.
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

When I stood in my tent again,
Arming afresh, I felt a pain
Take hold of me, I was so fain,
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

To hear: _Honneur aux fils des preux!_
Right in my ears again, and shew
The gilliflower blossom'd new.
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

The Sieur Guillaume against me came,
His tabard bore three points of flame
From a red heart: with little blame,
_Hah! hah! la belle jaune giroflee._

Our tough spears crackled up like straw;
He w