A Balade. Ma dame, ye ben of al beaute shryne As fer as cercled is the mapamonde; For as the cristall glorious ye shyne, And lyke ruby ben your chekys rounde. Therwyth ye ben so mery and so iocunde That at a reuell whan that I se you dance, It is an oynement vnto my wounde, Thoght ye to me ne do no daliance. For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne, Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde; Your semy voys that ye so small out twyne Makyth my thoght in ioy and blys habounde. So curtaysly I go, wyth loue bounde, That to my self I sey, in my penaunce, Suffyseth me to loue you, Rosemounde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce. Nas neuer pyk walwed in galauntyne As I in loue am walwed and iwounde; For whych ful ofte I of my self deuyne That I am trew Tristam the secunde. My loue may not refreyde nor affounde; I brenne ay in an amorouse plesaunce. Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde, Thogh ye to me ne do no daliance.
This poem is in the public domain.
Geoffrey Chaucer was born in London sometime between 1340 and 1344 to
Date Published: 1400-01-01
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/rosemounde