Classic Poem

Wolde God that it were so
As I coude wishe betwixt us two!

The man that I loved altherbest
In al this contré, est other west,
To me he is a strange gest:
What wonder is't though I be wo?

When me were levest that he shold dwell,
. . . . . .
He wold nought say ones farewell
When time was come that he most go.

In places ofte when I him mete,
I dare nought speke, but forth I go;
With herte and eyes I him grete—
So trewe of love I know no mo.

As he is myn herte love,
My derward dere, y-blessed he be!
I swere by God that is above,
None hath my love but only he.

I am y-comforted in every side,
The coloures wexeth both fresh and newe,
When he is come and wil abide—
I wot ful wel that he is trewe.

I love him trewely and no mo—
Wolde God that he it knewe!
And ever I hope it shal be so;
Then shall I chaunge for no newe.