My Lady is most fair and kind When on the meads we stroll together, And breezy as the balmy wind And smiling as the sunny weather. The sun entangles in her hair, Her eyes reflect the skies above her, And tulips blush and blossom where There are two lips for some true lover. My Lady wears a muslin gown That flutters in a way engaging, And when she romps across the down She knows she sets my pulses raging; For her light feet are swift, indeed— In fact, I know no maid to match her— And, though I race with all my speed, I find, alas! I cannot catch her. My Lady's white, bejeweled hands Are fragile as they are entrancing, And still the reins she understands, And holds while steeds—and men—are dancing. Dear lady mine, will you be kind, And give the ribbons to another— And me your hand—for, oh, I find I cannot bear to be your brother! |