Now then, your blank-verse doom you know,
Hey, presto, and away we go!
FYTTE 3
Tell'th how Duke Jocelyn of love did sing,
And haughty knight in lily-pool did fling.
Upon a morn, when dewy flowers fresh-waked
Filled the glad air with perfume languorous,
And piping birds a pretty tumult made,
Thrilling the day with blended ecstasy;
When dew in grass did light a thousand fires,
And gemmed the green in flashing bravery--
Forth of her bower the fair Yolanda came,
Fresh as the morn and, like the morning, young,
Who, as she breathed the soft and fragrant air,
Felt her white flesh a-thrill with joyous life,
And heart that leapt responsive to the joy.
Vivid with life she trod the flowery ways,
Dreaming awhile of love and love and love;
Unknowing all of eyes that watched unseen,
Viewing her body's gracious loveliness:
Her scarlet mouth, her deep and dreamful eyes,
The glowing splendour of her sun-kissed hair,
Which in thick braids o'er rounded bosom fell
Past slender waist by jewelled girdle bound.
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