Of Three Damsels in a Meadow

About a well-spring, in a little mead,
Of tender grasses full and flow'rets fair,
There sat three youngling angels as it were
Their loves recounting; and for each, indeed,
Her sweet face shaded, 'gainst the noonday need,
A spray of green, that bound her golden hair;
Whilst, in and out by turns, a frolic air
The two clear colours blended at its heed.

And one, after a little, thus heard I
Say to her mates, 'Lo, if by chance there lit
The lovers of each one of us hereby,
Should we flee hence for fear or quiet sit?'
Whereto the twain made answer, 'Who should fly
From such a fortune sure were scant of wit.'