I'M SAD ALAS AND FOR EVER LOST

Translated from Eustache Deschamps by Sir Tollemache Sinclair. In thy dark robe of wool, far from the eyes of men. Woman, perhaps thou comest like a Magdalen, Owning thy sins, with heart crushed like a wounded dove, Thyself accusing of mistakes, of too much love. Oh, 'tis not that for which one falls into th'abyss. But not to have a woman loved that my fault is, Ah! "tis my crime, for that I'm grieved, dost thou see now? Alas! I'm very sad, for ever lost, I vow. And when I see two hearts rejoice, I'm then half dead, My hair stands up in sadness on my blighted head.