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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473231" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Ballade De Marguerite (Normande)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am weary of lying within the chase<br>When the knights are meeting in market-place.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town<br>Lest the hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I would not go where the Squires ride,<br>I would only walk by my Lady's side.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Alack! and alack! thou art overbold,<br>A Forester's son may not eat off gold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Will she love me the less that my Father is seen<br>Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie,<br>Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, if she is working the arras bright<br>I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perchance she is hunting of the deer,<br>How could you follow o'er hill and mere?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, if she is riding with the court,<br>I might run beside her and wind the morte.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Perchance she is kneeling in St. Denys,<br>(On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle,<br>I might swing the censer and ring the bell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come in, my son, for you look sae pale,<br>The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But who are these knights in bright array?<br>Is it a pageant the rich folks play?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'T is the King of England from over sea,<br>Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But why does the curfew toll sae low?<br>And why do the mourners walk a-row?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O 't is Hugh of Amiens my sister's son<br>Who is lying stark, for his day is done.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear,<br>It is no strong man who lies on the bier.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O 't is old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall,<br>I knew she would die at the autumn fall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair,<br>Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O 't is none of our kith and none of our kin,<br>(Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet,<br>'Elle est morte, la Marguerite.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come in, my son, and lie on the bed,<br>And let the dead folk bury their dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O mother, you know I loved her true:<br>O mother, hath one grave room for two?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Oscar+Wilde">Oscar Wilde</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=473231" data-title="Ballade De Marguerite (Normande) de Oscar Wilde" data-description="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 hoofs of the war-horse tread thee down.

But I would not go where the Squires ride,
I would only walk by my Lady's..."></div>
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