Ïðî÷èòàíèé :  159
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Òâîð÷³ñòü |
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Êðèòèêà
I never saw my Lady lay apart
I never saw my Lady lay apart
Her cornet black, in cold nor yet in heat,
Sith first she knew my grief was grown so great;
Which other fancies driveth from my heart,
That to myself I do the thought reserve,
The which unawares did wound my woful breast;
But on her face mine eyes might never rest.
Yet since she knew I did her love and serve,
Her golden tresses clad alway with black,
Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore,
And that restrains which I desire so sore.
So doth this cornet fovern me alack!
In summer, sun, in winter's breath, a frost;
Whereby the light of her fair looks I lost.
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