IX

Fair was the morn when the fair queen of love,
⋮
Paler for sorrow than her milk-white dove,
For Adon’s sake, a youngster proud and wild;
Her stand she takes upon a steep-up hill:
Anon Adonis comes with horn and hounds;
She, silly queen, with more than love’s good will,
Forbade the boy he should not pass those grounds:
“Once,” quoth she, “did I see a fair sweet youth
Here in these brakes deep wounded with a boar,
Deep in the thigh, a spectacle of ruth!
See, in my thigh,” quoth she, “here was the sore.”
She showed hers: he saw more wounds than one,
And blushing fled, and left her all alone.