Like some rare queen of old romance
Who loved the gleam of helm and lance
⁠Is she.
A harper of King Arthur's days
Should praise her in a hundred lays:
The queen of Love and Chivalry—
O Dieu te garde, mon coeur, ma vie.

And crown-wise plaited is her hair,
No crown of woven gold more fair
⁠Could be.
And very queen-like, too, the smile
That lightens every little while
A face too fair for men to see,
O Dieu te garde, mon coeur, ma vie.

She is not over kind, I know;
The queens were gracious long ago,
⁠Ah me!
Queen Guenevere would give a kiss
Ofttimes to Launcelot, I wis—
I would that I were loved as he!
O Dieu te garde, mon coeur, ma vie.