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...THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST DOMESDAY BOOK: CHARLES WARREN, THE SHERIFF by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: COONEY POTTER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS MR. HOUSMAN'S MESSAGE by EZRA POUND THE WANTS OF MAN by JOHN QUINCY ADAMS |