Pure white the shields their arms upbear,
With silver emblems rare o'ercast;
Amid blue glittering blades they go,
The horns they blow are loud of blast. ...
Sometimes, to solace my sad heart, I say,
Though late it be, though lily-time be past,
Though all the summer skies be overcast,
Haply I will go down to her, some day,
And cast my rests of life before her feet,
That she may have her will of me, being so sweet
And none gainsay!