上海龙凤shlf最新地址Poem: Ballade De Marguerite (Normande)

上海龙凤shlf最新地址I am weary of lying within the chase

上海龙凤shlf最新地址When the knights are meeting in market-place.

Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town

Lest the hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down.

上海龙凤shlf最新地址But I would not go where the Squires ride,

I would only walk by my Lady's side.

Alack! and alack! thou art overbold,

A Forester's son may not eat off gold.

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Will she love me the less that my Father is seen

Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?

Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,

Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.

Ah, if she is working the arras bright

I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.

Perchance she is hunting of the deer,

How could you follow o'er hill and mere?

Ah, if she is riding with the court,

上海龙凤shlf最新地址I might run beside her and wind the morte.

Perchance she is kneeling in St. Denys,

(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,

上海龙凤shlf最新地址I might swing the censer and ring the bell.

Come in, my son, for you look sae pale,

上海龙凤shlf最新地址The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.

But who are these knights in bright array?

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Is it a pageant the rich folks play?

'T is the King of England from over sea,

上海龙凤shlf最新地址Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.

上海龙凤shlf最新地址But why does the curfew toll sae low?

And why do the mourners walk a-row?

O 't is Hugh of Amiens my sister's son

Who is lying stark, for his day is done.

Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,

It is no strong man who lies on the bier.

上海龙凤shlf最新地址O 't is old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,

I knew she would die at the autumn fall.

Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,

Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.

上海龙凤shlf最新地址O 't is none of our kith and none of our kin,

上海龙凤shlf最新地址(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)

But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet,

上海龙凤shlf最新地址'Elle est morte, la Marguerite.'

Come in, my son, and lie on the bed,

And let the dead folk bury their dead.

O mother, you know I loved her true:

上海龙凤shlf最新地址O mother, hath one grave room for two?