My heart was captured in many a snare
Enmeshed in ringlets of gold outspread,
Now in my heart lurks a bleak despair.
The past is past, and the dead are dead.
III.
Many the goblets of wine I quaffed
To health of dames who were fair and frail,
A kiss of the hand and a plumed hat doffed.
Then away to the wars in a coat of mail.
But, ah, that armour could not prevail