Oh! What beauty maketh thee,

A beauty enclosed within the very walls of thy body,

A beauty painted white in God's oven, 

A beauty blushing forth, in the reddening blood,

A beauty drest with the sweet voice for thy throat;

Oh slender and mournful tempation,

Thou hast, someone else, given away to her,

Keeping me barred, behing castle walls;

And that, she may stand at the edge of day and night,

And I rest upon the nocturnal beauty, and the enkindling charm,

Which she possess'd perhaps from the charm of a hermit's spell;

And so slender her passion,

That she may mourn for me on the eve of All Soul's Day,

While I lie in silent peace,

Under warm green sods.