In the dusk with thee grieving, took he of thee his leaving,
With no thought of deceiving ever thy gentle mind?
Lady, may it console thee, at my door I'll not hold thee;
Enter, by all that's holy, thou'lt not here him find.
Search the bed, clothes and curtain, and floor 'neath, be certain;
Do the shutters fling open, mark the ledges all bare;
Turn out ward, box, and basin, all my meager possession;
Only look not my heart in, for thou wilt find him there.
Refrain:
Which way the wind bloweth,
Whither thy love goeth,
His heart alone knoweth,
It hath not been mine.
When I pluck, thus, a lute string, with another it doth ring,
And together they do sing, whence a chord doth resound.
So, I hapless discover, unto thy love I'm lover,
And of him silent suffer every harmony found.
He meant not to win me by the music that's in me;
Lady, hadstou but been me, couldest turn a deaf ear,
Or dismiss it as dreaming, better ee' as false-seeming,
While the notes yet run gleaming up the spine of my fear?
Refrain: repeat.
Wherefore I beseech thee,if a tale e'er do reach thee,
How thy true love did teach me for to pity his woe,
Know us far above it, and believe thee nought of it:
All the woe's mine to covet, and the pity forgo.
Refrain: repeat.
Be thou not mistaking: 'tis thine for the taking,
While mine's strangely aching. For why should it pine?
It loveth what's lovely, and stealeth nought from thee.
Lady, deem me happy by these tear-bright eyne.
Refrain: repeat
Rosamunde del Shore circa A.S. XXVI
