Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/313

 If love of his might move that face at all, Tuned evenwise with colours musical; Then after length of days he said thus: "Love, For love's own sake and for the love thereof Let no harsh words untune your gracious mood; For good it were, if anything be good, To comfort me in this pain's plague of mine; Seeing thus, how neither sleep nor bread nor wine Seems pleasant to me, yea no thing that is Seems pleasant to me; only I know this; Love's ways are sharp for palms of piteous feet To travel, but the end of such is sweet: Now do with me as seemeth you the best." She mused a little, as one holds his guest By the hand musing, with her face borne down: Then said: "Yea, though such bitter seed be sown, Have no more care of all that you have said; Since if there is no sleep will bind your head, Lo, I am fain to help you certainly; Christ knoweth, sir, if I would have you die; There is no pleasure when a man is dead." Thereat he kissed her hands and yellow head And clipped her fair long body many times; I have no wit to shape in written rhymes A scanted tithe of this great joy they had. They were too near love's secret to be glad; As whoso deems the core will surely melt From the warm fruit his lips caress, hath felt