Classic Poem

A maid of Christ entreateth me
That I for her a love-song write
By which most plainly she may see
The way to choose a faithful knight;
One that to her shall loyal be
And guard and keep her by his might.
Never will I deny her plea,
To teach her this be my delight.

Maiden, thou mayest well behold
How this world's love is but a race
Beset with perils manifold,
Fickle and ugly, weak and base.
Those noble knights that once were bold
As breath of wind pass from their place,
Under the mold now lie they cold,
Wither like grass and leave no trace. . . .

There's none so rich, nor none so free,
But that he soon shall hence away.
Nothing may ever his warrant be,
Gold, nor silver, nor ermine gay.
Though swift, his end he may not flee,
Nor shield his life for a single day.
Thus is this world, as thou may'st see,
Like to the shadow that glides away.

This world all passes as the wind.
When one thing comes, another flies;
What was before, is now behind;
What was held dear, we now despise.
Therefore he does as doth the blind
That in this world would claim his prize.
This world decays, as ye may find;
Truth is put down and wrong doth rise.

The love that may not here abide,
Thou dost great wrong to trust to now;
E'en so it soon shall from thee glide,
'Tis false, and brittle, and slight, I trow,
Changing and passing with every tide,
While it lasts it is sorrow enow;
At end, man wears not robe so wide
But he shall fall as leaf from bough. . . .

Paris and Helen, where are they
That were so bright and fair of face?
Amadas, Tristram, did they stay,
Or Iseult with her winsome grace?
Could mighty Hector death delay,
Or Caesar, high in pride of place?
They from this earth have slipped away
As sheaf from field, and left no trace.

They are as though they never were,
Of them are many wonders said,
And it is pity for to hear
How these were slain with tortures dread,
And how alive they suffered here;
Their heat is turned to cold instead,
Thus doth the world but false appear,
The foolish trust it,—lo! 'tis sped.

For though a mighty man he were
As Henry, England's king by birth,
Though he as Absalom were fair,
Whose peer lived not in all the earth,
Yet of his pride he's soon stripped bare,
At last he'll fetch not a herring's worth.
Maid, if thou mak'st true love thy care,
I'll show thee a love more true than earth.

Ah! maiden sweet, if thou but knew
All the high virtues of this knight!
He is fair and bright of hue,
Mild, with face of shining light,
Meet to be loved and trusted too,
Gracious, and wise beyond man's sight,
Nor through him wilt thou ever rue,
If thou but trust in his great might.

He is the strongest in the land;
As far as man can tell with mouth,
All men lie beneath his hand,
East, and West, and North, and South;
Henry, King of Engellánd,
He holds of him and to him boweth.
His messenger, at his command,
His love declares, his truth avow'th.

Speak'st thou of buildings raised of old,
Wrought by the wise king Solomon,
Of jasper, sapphire, and fine gold,
And of many another stone?
His home is fairer by many fold
Than I can tell to any one;
'Tis promised, maid, to thee of old,
If thou wilt take him for thine own.

It stands upon foundations sound,
So built that they shall never fall;
Nor miner sap them underground,
Nor shock e'er shake the eternal wall;
Cure for each wound therein is found,
Bliss, joy, and song, fill all that hall.
The joys that do therein abound
Are thine, thou may'st possess them all.

There friend from friend shall never part,
There every man shall have his right;
No hate is there, no angry heart,
Nor any envy, pride or spite;
But all shall with the angels play
In peace and love in heavenly light.
Are they not, maid, in a good way,
Who love and serve our Lord aright?

No man may Him ever see
As He is in all His might,
And without pure bliss may be
When he knows the Lord of light.
With Him all is joy and glee,
He is day without a night.
Will he not most happy be
Who may bide with such a knight? . . .

This writing, maiden, that I send,
Open it, break seal and read;
Wide unroll, its words attend,
Learn without book each part with speed.
Then straight to other maidens wend
And teach it them to meet their need;
Whoso shall learn it to the end
In sooth 'twill stand him in good stead.
And when thou sittest sorrowing,
Draw forth the scroll I send thee here,
And with sweet voice its message sing,
And do its bidding with good cheer.
To thee this does His greeting bring;
Almighty God would have thee near;
He bids thee come to His wedding,
There where he sits in Heaven's high sphere.