Lords of merry England's manors,
Born for tilt with Spanish knight,
Lay your lances, furl your banners,
Here hath been a sterner fight,
Death has slain Joanna.

By the haughty Edward's sorrow,
By the tears of fair Philippe,
Twine no bridal wreaths to-morrow,
Spanish maids, draw nigh to weep
For your queen, Joanna.

Nought of jousting or carousal,
Woe hath been for joy and pride,
Burial for high espousal,
Lowly lay the virgin bride,
Death has wed Joanna.

Gently tomb her, for who knoweth
What of pain and grief to come,
He who all in love bestoweth
Saw, and to His heavenly home
Took the fair Joanna?

In high hope we came to weave thee
Bridal chaplets, Royal Rose!
In a higher hope we leave thee,
Faithfully to blest repose.
Rest in peace, Joanna.
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