A mayde, and love hunting and venerie,
And for to walken in the wodes wilde.
The Knightes Tale.
She greets the lily on the stalk;
She shakes the soft hair from her brows;
She wavers down the garden walk
Beneath the bloomy boughs.
She is the slenderest of maids;
Her fair face strikes you like a star;
The great stone tower her pathway shades—