Under the stone you behold,
  Buried, and coffined, and cold,
  Lieth Sir Wilfrid the Bold.

  Always he marched in advance,
  Warring in Flanders and France,
  Doughty with sword and with lance.

  Famous in Saracen fight,
  Rode in his youth the good knight,
  Scattering Paynims in flight.

  Brian the Templar untrue,
  Fairly in tourney he slew,
  Saw Hierusalem too.

  Now he is buried and gone,
  Lying beneath the gray stone:
  Where shall you find such a one?

  Long time his widow deplored,
  Weeping the fate of her lord,
  Sadly cut off by the sword.

  When she was eased of her pain,
  Came the good Lord Athelstane,
  When her ladyship married again.

This poem is in the public domain.