Canst thine eyes naught glimmer and
twinkle, beckoning like new fallen snow,
doth thou naught bubble like mead, warm
and friendly, I’ve seen thee… I know,
thine hand ever kind and holpen, and I’ll
be holding thee tight, young maiden faire,
for thou art a thing of beauty known…
with mind and heart with gouden hair,
mine hand hath held near many a hand
and to blush the young cheeks do turn,
to bandy about the affairs of the heart
but in morning pass to women nocturne,
the difference of girls, to talk and be loud
as can be, pick me a flower they say,
thou knowest eyes of a woman speak their
choice, the chance for men often pray.