And whiles thou doatest on yon painted head
My tongue I'll lend to woo thee in its stead.
I'll woo with wit
As seemeth fit,
Whiles there thou sit
And gaze on it.
Whiles it ye see
Its voice I'll be
And plead with thee,
So hark to me:
Yolande, I love thee in true loving way;
That is, I'll learn to love thee more each day,
Until so great my growing love shall grow,
This puny world in time 't will overflow.
To-day I love, and yet my love is such
That I to-morrow shall have twice as much.
Thus lovingly to love thee I will learn
Till thou shalt learn Love's lesson in thy turn,
And find therein how sweet this world can be
When as I love, thou, love, shall so love me."
"Hush, hush!" she sighed, and to her ruddy lip
She sudden pressed one rosy finger-tip.
And then, O happy picture! Swift from sight
She hid it in her fragrant bosom white.
"O Fool," she cried, "get thee behind yon tree,
And thou a very Fool indeed shall see,
A knightly fool who sighs and groans in verse
And oft-times woos in song, the which is worse.
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