You may sneer at these attempts adverse,
And laugh at my clumsy rhyming,
But my words spring from a heart that's true,
Open, clear browed, and unbeguiling.
How I found you, I shall never know;
What miracle was wrought that day?
But then, to lose you over the rim of the world,
Is more than these hobbled words can say.
My heart was a lonely quiver of desire,
My soul a lance untested in the lists;
Waiting for that fluttering favour,
That would whisper, 'Another heart exists'
'Wandering like yours through empty halls,
Unsure and lost, or so it seems;
Stumbling in the dark uncertainty of life,
But dreaming the same certain dreams.'
You were there that day to watch the sport,
And let your ribbon feather to the ground;
I claimed it as my Talisman,
My armour against every wound.
And my heart flew, as willing sacrifice,
To be your liege Lord, and your slave.
A burning shield to keep you safe,
And a sword to be forever brave.
But an ill-starred tournament it became,
For I broke my lance that day;
And now you have abandoned me,
Some other courtly game to play.
And the armour that I donned for you,
Love's intricately woven shirt of mail;
Proof against the shocks of sword and mace,
Could not, against your blade, prevail.
Love's sweet draught slipped, twixt cup and lip,
And so my quest goes on, alone;
For neither stars, nor piled anthologies,
Will bring you back, or for my blunderings atone.
But know you this, though I am poor,
And have no more than words to spend,
I would gladly give them all to you,
Until such time as I met my end;
For if wishes could be silver coins,
What treasures are locked inside this chest?
And if thoughts were filed into words as sweet,
What elegies within these pages press'd?
