Classic Poem

So was this strong man madly temperate,
Until at last the evil day was come
For which so long cold Fortune bade him wait.
And now that he and Blanche in closed room
Are met in converse, now 'twere not unmeet
That I should of the painter's skill presume
If ye would see that lady fair and sweet
In her first youth, she had wide flashing eyes,
And she was prompt of speech, and of some heat,
Which ever to the proud gains enemies:
But, whom she had offended, she would be
Quick with some sudden kindness to surprise:
And her great beauty made the amends as free
And acceptable as the smile of the air,
When from a cloud it looks more graciously.
Well coloured was she, tall and debonair,
And light and very swift: and energy
And grace in all her actions mingled were.
Her hair was long, her face made delicately,
Her lips and eyes were in a form so rare,
Which way she turned her neck, they did agree
And so she was surnamed Blanche the Fair,
And Rouen's Maid: seeing so fair she was
That not another might with her compare
To this fair creature Mano told his case
From the first day whereon his heart grew weak,
Beseeching her for gentleness and grace
But she anon bade him no more to speak,
Sith to Giroie her troth was given away
Long since, as all men knew Red was her cheek;
Like a fool looked he: nought could he gainsay
But that of all the very truth he knew,
As sad Joanna told him ere that day
But now, he said, " Thou biddest me to rue:
Wisdom too late is folly's penalty:
Yet answer, for this one request I sue,
" Thou who thus dealest forth my destiny,
That, knowing all, my fate the easier prove:
Goes this thing with thy mind? " — " Yea, " answered she.
" Then, " answered he, " since love is born of love,
And thou returnest not my love for thee,
That which I brought must I again remove,
And in my breast must poor love buried be " —
" And even so, since never I thee bade
To vex me with thy love, I well agree: "
That answered Blanche: then without word he made
His passage from her presence fair and fierce;
And coming whence he was so evilly paid,
His beard was all to-rent beneath his ears
But in a while he gan to smile, and sing
This little song, which in this place appears
" I cry your mercy for my misdeeming:
And end of all my songs I make hereby:
For love hath made an end of his playing,
" And in love's joys no more a share have I
And if of joy an end to me thou bring,
And thoughts of love within my mind must die,
Then of my songs there is no more to sing. "