Downcast and sad, though still content to wait
Her knight—the flower of knighthood—who some day
Would surely come and bear her far away.
Baldwin bethought him of the maiden fair,
Whose fame had gone abroad, and everywhere
Looked, till his eyes fell upon one who seemed
Fairer than mind had pictured, brain had dreamed.
She sat upon a golden seat, alone,
In priceless robes; upon her head a crown,
Well worth a county: there, row over row,