  When I was flying before the King In the wood of Valognes in my hiding, Although I had not anything I sent a woman a golden ring. A Ring of the Moors beyond Leon With emerald and with diamond stone, And a writing no man ever had known, And an opal standing all alone. The shape of the ring the heart to bind: The emerald turns from cold to kind: The writing makes her sure to find:— But the evil opal changed her mind. Now when the King was dead, was he, I came back hurriedly over the sea From the long rocks in Normandy To Bosham that is by Selsey. And we clipt each other knee to knee. But what I had was lost to me. |
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