Page:Poems and ballads (IA poemsballads00swinrich).pdf/330

 Also the chosen of the years, The multitude being at ease, With sackbuts and with dulcimers And noise of shawms and psalteries Made mirth within the ears of these.

But as a common woman doth, Thou didst think evil and devise; The sweet smell of thy breast and mouth Thou madest as the harlot’s wise, And there was painting on thine eyes.

Yea, in the woven guest-chamber And by the painted passages Where the strange gracious paintings were, State upon state of companies, There came on thee the lust of these.

Because of shapes on either wall Sea-coloured from some rare blue shell At many a Tyrian interval, Horsemen on horses, girdled well, Delicate and desirable,

Thou saidest: I am sick of love: Stay me with flagons, comfort me With apples for my pain thereof Till my hands gather in his tree That fruit wherein my lips would be.