[Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told]

Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told,

Picture a gentle knight, full sweet to see,

Though young in years, in wisdom passing old,

Model of glory and of valiancy;

Fair-haired, bright colour glowing in his face,

Tall and well-set, broad-shouldered, finally,

In all his parts a paragon of grace

Except in loving wantonly, ah me!

   Who'd know myself, picture a woman wrought

In passion and in presence after pain's

And death's own bitter images, a port

Of safety where untroubled rest remains;

One who with neither tears, nor sighs, nor zest

Wakes pity in her cruel lover's breast.