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Lady

La Bella Donna della Mia Mente

Oscar Wilde

My limbs are wasted with a flame,
My feet are sore with travelling,
For, calling on my Lady's name
My lips have now forgot to sing.

O Linnet in the wild-rose brake

Ballade de Margueritte (Normande)

I am weary of lying within the chase
When the knights are meeting in market-place.

Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town
Lest the hooves of the war-horse tread thee down.

My Lady Of Castle Grand

MY LADY OF CASTLE GRAND

Gray is the palace where she dwells,
Grimly the poplars stand
There by the window where she sits,
My Lady of Castle Grand.

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