That I should mar this earth and thy great realm
With my wry, knotted sorrows? Launcelot’s love
Was manly, kind, and generous as became
A soul encased in such propitious frame.
The kingly trees well turn them to the sun,
And glory in their splendor with the morn.
’Tis natural that noble souls should dwell
’Twixt noble features, but the maiméd soul
Should ever be found in the distorted shape.
But I had loved as never man hath loved