Entranced he stood, bound by her beauty's spell,
Whereby it seemed he did in her behold
The beauty of all fair and beauteous things.


Now leaned she o'er a pool where lilies pale
Oped their shy beauties to the gladsome day,
Yet in their beauty none of them so fair
As that fair face the swooning waters held.
And as, glad-eyed, she viewed her loveliness,
She fell to singing, soft and low and sweet,
Clear and full-throated as a piping merle,
And this the manner of her singing was:

"What is love? Ah, who shall say?
Flower to languish in a day,
Bird on wing that will away.
Love, I do defy thee!

"What is love? A toy so vain
'T is but found to lose again,
Painful sweet and sweetest pain;
Ah, love, come not nigh me.

"But, love, an thou com'st to me,
Wert thou as I'd have thee be,
Welcome sweet I'd make for thee,
And weary of thee never.

"If with thy heart thou could'st endure,