Defence of Guenevere and Other Poems — Praise of My Lady
My lady seems of ivory Forehead, straight nose, and cheeks that be Hollow'd a little mournfully.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ Her forehead, overshadow'd much By bows of hair, has a wave such As God was good to make for me.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ Not greatly long my lady's hair, Nor yet with yellow colour fair, But thick and crisped wonderfully: _Beata mea Domina!
_ Heavy to make the pale face sad, And dark, but dead as though it had Been forged by God most wonderfully _Beata mea Domina!
_ Of some strange metal, thread by thread, To stand out from my lady's head, Not moving much to tangle me.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ Beneath her brows the lids fall slow.
The lashes a clear shadow throw Where I would wish my lips to be.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ Her great eyes, standing far apart, Draw up some memory from her heart, And gaze out very mournfully;
_Beata mea Domina!
_ So beautiful and kind they are, But most times looking out afar, Waiting for something, not for me.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ I wonder if the lashes long Are those that do her bright eyes wrong, For always half tears seem to be _Beata mea Domina!
_ Lurking below the underlid, Darkening the place where they lie hid: If they should rise and flow for me!
_Beata mea Domina!
_ Her full lips being made to kiss, Curl'd up and pensive each one is;
This makes me faint to stand and see.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ Her lips are not contented now, Because the hours pass so slow Towards a sweet time: (pray for me), _Beata mea Domina!
_ 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!
_ Inside her tender palm and thin.
Now give me pardon, dear, wherein My voice is weak and vexes thee.
_Beata mea Domina!
_ All men that see her any time, I charge you straightly in this rhyme, What, and wherever you may be, _Beata mea Domina!
_ To kneel before her; as for me, I choke and grow quite faint to see My lady moving graciously.
_Beata mea Domina!
_
