Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/156

 How she then wore it on the brows, Yet am I glad to have her dead Here in this wretched wattled house Where I can kiss her eyes and head.

Nothing is better, I well know, Than love; no amber in cold sea Or gathered berries under snow: That is well seen of her and me.

Three thoughts I make my pleasure of: First I take heart and think of this: That knight's gold hair she chose to love, His mouth she had such will to kiss.

Then I remember that sundawn I brought him by a privy way Out at her lattice, and thereon What gracious words she found to say.

(Cold rushes for such little feet— Both feet could lie into my hand. A marvel was it of my sweet Her upright body could so stand.)

"Sweet friend, God give you thank and grace; Now am I clean and whole of shame, Nor shall men burn me in the face For my sweet fault that scandals them."