The moon hath risen her plaint to lay
  Before the face of Love Divine. 
  Saying in heaven she will not stay,
  Since you have stolen what made her shine: 
  Aloud she wails with sorrow wan,—­
  She told her stars and two are gone: 
  They are not there; you have them now;
  They are the eyes in your bright brow.

Nor are girls less ready to praise their lovers, but that they do not dwell so much on physical perfection.  Here is a pleasant greeting (p. 124):—­

  O welcome, welcome, lily white,
  Thou fairest youth of all the valley! 
  When I’m with you, my soul is light;
  I chase away dull melancholy. 
  I chase all sadness from my heart: 
  Then welcome, dearest that thou art! 
  I chase all sadness from my side: 
  Then welcome, O my love, my pride! 
  I chase all sadness far away: 
  Then welcome, welcome, love, to-day!

The image of a lily is very prettily treated in the next (p 79):—­

  I planted a lily yestreen at my window;
  I set it yestreen, and to-day it sprang up: 
  When I opened the latch and leaned out of my window,
  It shadowed my face with its beautiful cup. 
  O lily, my lily, how tall you are grown! 
  Remember how dearly I loved you, my own. 
  O lily, my lily, you’ll grow to the sky! 
  Remember I love you for ever and aye.

The same thought of love growing like a flower receives another turn (p. 69):—­

  On yonder hill I saw a flower;
  And, could it thence be hither borne,
  I’d plant it here within my bower,
  And water it both eve and morn. 
  Small water wants the stem so straight;
  ’Tis a love-lily stout as fate. 
  Small water wants the root so strong: 
  ’Tis a love-lily lasting long. 
  Small water wants the flower so sheen: 
  ’Tis a love-lily ever green.

Envious tongues have told a girl that her complexion is not good.  She replies, with imagery like that of Virgil’s ’Alba ligustra cadunt, vaccinia nigra leguntur’ (p. 31):—­

  Think it no grief that I am brown,
  For all brunettes are born to reign: 
  White is the snow, yet trodden down;
  Black pepper kings need not disdain: 
  White snow lies mounded on the vales
  Black pepper’s weighed in brazen scales.

Another song runs on the same subject (p. 38):—­

  The whole world tells me that I’m brown,
  The brown earth gives us goodly corn: 
  The clove-pink too, however brown,
  Yet proudly in the hand ’tis borne. 
  They say my love is black, but he
  Shines like an angel-form to me: 
  They say my love is dark as night;
  To me he seems a shape of light.

The freshness of the following spring song recalls the ballads of the
Val de Vire in Normandy (p. 85):—­