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Fault for loving let no man find Ever with any other; Oft the wise are fettered, where fools go free, By beauty that breeds desire.

Fault with another let no man find For what touches many a man; Wise men oft into witless fools Are made by mighty love.

The head alone knows what dwells near the heart, A man knows his mind alone; No sickness is worse to one who is wise Than to lack the longed-for joy.

This found I myself, when I sat in the reeds, And long my love awaited; As my life the maiden wise I loved, Yet her I never had.

Billing's daughter I found on her bed, In slumber bright as the sun; Empty appeared an earl's estate Without that form so fair.