The towels were of Courtenay;

The King he trembled—if from terror

Or from good faith, I cannot say.

Green silk curtains hung before him,

Still he ne’er essay’d to raise;

The vision bright I may not sing,

That daunted thus his baffled gaze.

It was a thing so passing lovely...

What more to say I do not ween.

Dainties other such as this,