Classic Poem

CCLXIV

Fortune, what aileth thee
Thus for to banish me
Her company whom I love best?
For to complain me
Nothing availeth me.
Adieu, farewell, this night's rest.

Her demure countenance,
Her homely patience
Hath wounded me through Venus' dart,
That I cannot refrain me
Neither yet abstain me
But needs must love her with all my heart.

Long have I loved her,
Oft have I prayed her.
Yet, alas, she through disdain
Nothing regards me
Nor yet rewards me
But lets me lie in mortal pain.

Yet shall I love her still
With all my heart and will
Wheresoever I ride or go.
My heart, my service,
Afore all ladies',
Is hers all only and no moe.

She hath my heart and ever shall
In this terrestrial.
What can she more of me require?
Her whom I love best,
God send her good rest
And me heartily my whole desire.