“Dear Cousin, never can I thank thee enough for all that thou hast done for me”; and the tears like to have fallen.
“To see thee happy gives me all the thanks I crave”; and my Lord fetched a deep sigh, thinking belike of that son whom his own hand had slain.
Then, when the sun grew low, homeward we turned, the pages singing as we rode along,—
“White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose,
Brilliant as a ruby that with spark of fire glows,
Your beauty and your loveliness to me all peerless shows,
White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose.
My heart for your heart watches; it pleaseth me to know
That to all other lovers the law of love I show.
White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose,