All day with hay and idle mowers. She dubbed me knight in pixy bowers,
Where in the hindering undergrowth I caught the singing of the flowers,
Ah me, how distant!... I was blest in my young lord who shared the test,
Being sent upon this pilgrimage, his snow-white love still unpossessed.
He, too, was paler than a ghost, as though already all were lost.
She dreamed of empery for him. He taught me this to show the cost:
My heart was mine.
Ambition kept it whole.
I gained the world,
And so I lost my soul.