To grant her locks, more bright than those
Which Tristan loved on Iseult’s brows.
And Audiartz, though on me thou frown,
All that thou hast of courtesy
I’ll have,—thy look, thy gentle mien,
And all the unchanged constancy
That dwells with thee.
And Miels de Ben, on thee I’ll wait
For thy light shape so delicate,
That in thy fairy form of grace