Who has a thing to bring For a gift to our lord the king, Our king all kings above? A young girl brought him love; And he dowered her with shame, With a sort of infamous fame,...
What are these leaves dark-spotted and acerb? 'A very holy herb.' To what good use may I this herb convert? 'Press it on thy soul's hurt.' When herb unto the hurt I thus apply? 'Herb-ert is sanctity.'
That one long dirge-moan sad and deep, Low, muffled by the solemn stress Of such emotion as doth steep The soul in brooding quietness, Befits our anguished time too well,...