Once more the Knights and ladies pass
In visions Fancy-wove:
I lie full length in summer grass,
To choose my own True-Love.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.
I know not how,—I know not where,—
I dream a fairy-spell:
I know she is surpassing fair,—
I know I love her well.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.
I know she is as pure as snow:—
As true as God's own Truth:—
I know,—I know I love her so,
She must love me, in sooth!
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.
I know the stars dim to her eyes;
The flowers blow in her face:
I know the angels in the skies
Have given her of their grace.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.
And none but I her heart can move,
Though seraphs may have striven;
And when I find my own True-love,
I know I shall find Heaven.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be!
I will seek my Love with the wings of a dove
And pray her to love but me.
TO CLAUDIA
It is not, Claudia, that thine eyes
Are sweeter far to me,
Than is the light of Summer skies
To captives just set free.
It is not that the setting sun
Is tangled in thy hair,
And recks not of the course to run,
In such a silken snare.
Nor for the music of thy words,
Fair Claudia, love I thee,
Though sweeter than the songs of birds
That melody to me.