Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
The Eve of CrecyWilliam Morris (18341896)
G
And gold where the hems of her kirtle meet,
And a golden girdle round my sweet;—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
Freshly dress’d and pleasantly;
Margaret’s hair falls down to her knee;—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
I would kiss the place where the gold hems meet,
And the golden girdle round my sweet—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
When the arriere-ban goes through the land,
Six basnets under my pennon stand;—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
‘Sir Lambert de Bois, with all his men good,
Has neither food nor firewood;’—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
And the golden girdle of my sweet,
And thereabouts where the gold hems meet;
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
While my few poor varlets grumble and drink
In my desolate hall, where the fires sink,—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
In glory of gold and glory of hair,
And glory of glorious face most fair;—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
Because this battle draweth near:
For what have I to lose or fear?—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
A right fair measure in this war-dance,
Before the eyes of Philip of France;—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.
While my new towers stand up three and three,
And my hall gets painted fair to see—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite—
For Lambert, banneret of the wood,
Has heaps of food and firewood;—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite;—
Of a damsel of right noble blood:’
St. Ives, for Lambert of the wood!—
Ah! qu’elle est belle La Marguerite.