"Mon fils, Absalon
Absalon, mon fils,
Las! perdu l'avon
Mon fils Absalon;
Il faut que soyon
En grief deuil confis
Mon fils Absalon
Absalon, mon fils!"
—Old French Play.
MY SWEETHEART.
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender,
And love lies laughing in her eyes.
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
And yet above all else I prize
The right from evil to defend her.
She's neither scholarly nor wise,
But, oh, her heart is wondrous tender.
Griffith Alexander.
When first we met, we did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master;
Of more than common friendliness
When first we met we did not guess.
Who could foretell the sore distress,
This irretrievable disaster,
When first we met?-we did not guess
That Love would prove so hard a master.
Robert Bridges.