Gilbert had sailed to India’s shore,
And I was all alone:
My lord came in at my open door
And said, “O fairest one!”
He leant upon the slant bureau,
And sighed, “I am sick for thee!”
“My lord,” said I, “pray speak not so,
Since wedded wife I be.”
Leaning upon the slant bureau,
Bitter his next words came:
“So much I know; and likewise know
My love burns on the same!
“But since you thrust my love away,
And since it knows no cure,
I must live out as best I may
The ache that I endure.”
When Michaelmas browned the nether Coomb,
And Wingreen Hill above,
And made the hollyhocks rags of bloom,
My lord grew ill of love.
My lord grew ill with love for me;
Gilbert was far from port;
And–so it was–that time did see
Me housed at Manor Court.
About the bowers of Manor Court
The primrose pushed its head
When, on a day at last, report
Arrived of him I had wed.
