With eyes of blue and locks of amber sheen.
And if I cannot have that golden head,
Prepare the mass, for soon I shall be dead.
In The Secrets of the Clerk there is a more delicate fancy, and the gracious avowal has all the charm of a natural and touching imagery:—
THE SECRETS OF THE CLERK.
Each night, each night, as on my bed I lie,
I do not sleep, but turn myself and cry.
I do not sleep, but turn myself and weep,