C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Author Unknown
A Twelfth-Century Lyric
W
A song of love,—a pretty thing,
Not made on farms:
Nay, by a gentle knight ’twas made,
Who lay beneath an olive’s shade
In his love’s arms.
And a white ermine mantle, o’er
A silken coat;
With flowers of May to keep her feet,
And round her ankles leggings neat,
From lands remote.
Spring foliage, with a fringing sheen
Of gold above;
And underneath a love-purse hung,
By bloomy pendants featly strung,
A gift of love.
The which with silver shoes was shod;
Saddle gold-red;
And behind rose-bushes three
She had set up a canopy
To shield her head.
A gentle childe in knightly weeds
Cried, “Fair one, wait!
What region is thy heritance?”
And she replied: “I am of France,
Of high estate.
Who high within the bosky pale,
On branches sings;
My mother’s the canary; she
Sings on the high banks where the sea
Its salt spray flings.”
Thou comest from the chief of earth,
Of high estate:
Ah, God our Father, that to me
Thou hadst been given, fair ladye,
My wedded mate!”