MADAME, ye ben of al beaute shryne As fer as cercled is the mappemounde; For as the cristal glorious ye shyne, And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde. Therwith ye ben so mery and so iocounde, That at a revel whan that I see you daunce, It is an oynement unto my wounde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce. For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne, Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde; Your seemly voys that ye so smal out-twyne Maketh my thoght in Ioye and blis habounde. So curteisly I go, with love bounde, That to my-self I sey, in my penaunce, Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce. Nas never pyk walwed in galauntyne As I in love am walwed and y-wounde; For which ful ofte I of my-self divyno That I am trewe Tristam the secounde. My love may not refreyd be nor afounde; I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce. Do what you list, I wil your thral be founde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN QUEST by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DAT GAL O' MINE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON MODERN PARAPHRASE OF SHAKESPEARE'S SONNET 29 by GEORGE SANTAYANA |