Little mother, seek not to know why
I am sad; lest I curse in reply.
For love’s pain I have proved;
I had once one beloved.
He was tall, little mother,
Fairer than any other.
His eyebrows black as a raven’s wing,
In an arch long drawn as is a ring,
Skin soft as silk, white as the froth of milk,
His eyes were like the dark wild-plum,