The absent Hero-husband

My lord, a warrior bold is he,
The hero of the land!
Before his king he speedeth on,
With spear and lance in hand.

Since East he went, my hair has flown
Like flax-weed in the breeze.
I might anoint and dress it now,
— But whom were this to please?

'Come rain, come rain! ' yet still the sun
Appears in cloudless sky.
Thoughts of my lord my fond heart fill,
My head, too, sorely try.

O for the herb that memory kills,
To plant behind my wall!
Thoughts of my lord my fond heart fill,
And anguish are they all.