By the castle-gate my lady stands,
Viewing broad acres and spreading lands.
Hill and valley and mead and plain
Are all her own, with their wealth of grain.
In the richest of rich robes she is dressed,
A jewel blazes upon her breast;
And her brow is decked with a diadem
That glitters with many a precious gem.
But what to the Lady Wendoline
Rich satin garments or jewels fine?
Or ripening harvests, or spreading lands—
See! she is wringing her milk-white hands!
And her finger is stained with crimson dew
Where the ring with the diamond star cut through.
And a look of pain and wild despair
Rests on the face, so young and fair.