What is good for a bootless bene?
The Falconer to the lady said.

From the great Poet's lips I thought to take
Some drops of honey for my parchèd mouth,
And draw from out his depths of purple lake
Some rill to murmur Peace thro' summer drouth.
Hail, sweet sad story! Noble lady, hail!-
Who, sorrowing wisely, sorrowed not in vain,
When Love and Death did strive, but Love prevail
To turn thy loss to Everlasting gain.
But what of Love, whose crown is not of bay,
Whose yellow locks with asphodel are twined?
And what of him, who in the battle-day
Dare not look forward, for the foes behind?