On the Death of Azalais, Addressed to His Friend Andrew

Amongst all hapless mortals I am he,
Most deeply sunk in bitter endless pain;
Ah! sweet were Death to me, and I were fain
Cut short these days of endless misery!
For from my life all happiness has fled,
Since that my Lady Azalais is dead;
Borne down am I with weeping and with woe —
Thou traitor Death! Full truly can I say,
A better lady thou couldst never slay.

How from my grief should I uplifted be,
If God had will'd that me Death first had slain!
Ah woe is me! But now, not long in pain
Shall I outlive my love — I crave from thee,
O Jesus, mighty One, of Truth the Head —
Her pardon. Lord, her soul unblemished
Give Thou unto St. Peter and St. John;
For therein heavenly grace does ever stay,
Guileless it is, and this can none gainsay.

For her should all men weep right bitterly.
For goodlier lady earth did ne'er contain;
Like gracious bearing ne'er will be again,
And now what worth in beauty do we see?
What worth in wit, and wisdom, fame far spread,
Frank speech, kind greeting, courtesy high-bred?
Of what avail the fairest things on earth?
Thou, wretched World, no more o'er me hast sway.
Most vile thou art, since she has gone her way.

Now know we angels pure on high with glee
Do welcome her, who from our midst is ta'en;
For oft I hear, and oft wise books maintain,
"Who praised of men is, praised of God will be."
Then well I know to Heaven's high hall she's sped.
There roses and fair lilies crown her head.
And there glad choirs of angels sing her praise.
Rightly to her, who ne'er from Truth did stray,
In Paradise all creatures homage pay.

Oh! Lady Adelaide, since thou art dead.
All gladness from my life is vanished;
Henceforth I bid a sad farewell to song.
And many a groan, a tear, a well-a-day,
My bitter anguish nowise do allay.

Friend Andrew, all my wishes flee away,
Now nevermore Love's call will I obey.