Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 3.pdf/78

56

The rose is not more red, more white

No snow which clads the mountain height,

But ’tis folly to compare

That which beyond all thought is fair,

And Nature’s beauty doth o’ergo

All that man’s heart or mind can know.

When Nature heard the Barons swear

Their solemn oath, it brought to her

Great solace for the woe that weighed

Her heart down, yet scarce unafraid

She cried:

Alas! what have I done?

On me returns, unhappy one!

The memory of a fault that I

Committed in days long gone by

When first this beauteous world was made,

And justly had by penance paid

Therefor, since fain am I to win

Pardon for my unwitting sin.

Alas! how many a thousand time

Must I repent me of my crime!

How have I then my pains employed?

Am I of wit so far devoid,

That I who thought my friends to serve,

And thence their praise and thanks deserve,

Must yet acknowledge in the end

That ’tis my foes whom I befriend?

My kindness brings me but distress.