MADAME, for your newefangelnesse, Many a servaunt have ye put out of grace. I take my leve of your unstedfastnesse, For wel I wot, whyl ye have lyves space, Ye can not love ful half yeer in a place, To newe thing your lust is ay so kene; In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene. Right as a mirour nothing may enpresse, But, lightly as it cometh, so mot it pace, So fareth your love, your werkes bereth witnesse. Ther is no feith that may your herte enbrace; But, as a wedercok, that turneth his face With every wind, ye fare, and that is sene; In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene. Ye might be shryned, for your brotelnesse, Bet than Dalyda, Creseyde or Candace; For ever in chaunging stant your sikernesse; That tache may no wight fro your herte arace. If ye lese oon, ye can wel tweyn purchace; Al light for somer, ye woot wel what I mene, In stede of blew, thus may ye were al grene. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: DOMESDAY BOOK by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE TUFT OF FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 6. ALLAH-AS-SALAM by EDWIN ARNOLD THE LAST MAN: RECOLLECTION OF EARLY LIFE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |