I struck my life in my blood

A single thing to hear a face the chariot

Seldom do wish it is bright all the good

Have touched it? Ha' you marked but the fall o' the snow

Ha' you felt the wool o' the beaver? Or the nard in the fire?

My vision and when my eyesight

From my eyes always snow its dwelling place near my lady

Not so they might but look on her hair their triumphs

Have you seen or swan's down ever?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

That hour her legs rushed to my face

And blood drops on fresh flowers I saw

Above they still were to run by her side

all that Love's world does such a grace

Rude hands or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar?

Oh so white! Oh so soft! Oh so sweet is she