Page:Early poems of William Morris.djvu/271

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Praise of My Lady

191

Nay, hold thy peace! for who can tell;
But this at least I know full well,
Her lips are parted longingly,
Beata mea Domina!


So passionate and swift to move,
To pluck at any flying love,
That I grow faint to stand and see.
Beata mea Domina!


Yea! there beneath them is her chin,
So fine and round, it were a sin
To feel no weaker when I see
Beata mea Domina!


God's dealings; for with so much care
And troublous, faint lines wrought in there,
He finishes her face for me.
Beata mea Domina!


Of her long neck what shall I say?
What things about her body's sway,
Like a knight's pennon or slim tree
Beata mea Domina!


Set gently waving in the wind;
Or her long hands that I may find
On some day sweet to move o'er me?
Beata mea Domina!


God pity me though, if I miss'd
The telling, how along her wrist
The veins creep, dying languidly
Beata mea Domina!