My day and night are in my lady's hand; I have none other sunrise than her sight:For me her favour glorifies the land, Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. Her face is fairer than the hawthorn white,When all a-flower in May the hedge-rows stand: Whilst she is kind, I know of none affright:My day and night are in my lady's hand.
All heaven in her glorious eyes is spanned: Her smile is softer than the summer night,Gladder than daybreak on the Faery strand: I have none other sunrise than her sight. Her silver speech is like the singing flightOf runnels rippling o'er the jewelled sand; Her kiss a dream of delicate delight;For me her favour glorifies the land.
What if the winter slay the summer bland! The gold sun in her hair burns ever bright:If she be sad, straightway all joy is banned: Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. Come weal or woe, I am my lady's knightAnd in her service every ill withstand: Love is my lord, in all the world's despite,And holdeth in the hollow of his hand My day and night.
