Complaint that his Lady, after she knew his Love, kept her Face always hidden from him

I NEVER saw my Lady lay apart

Her cornet black, in cold nor yet in heat,

Sith first she knew my grief was grown so great;

Which other fancies driveth from my heart,

That to myself I do the thought reserve,

The which unwares did wound my woful breast;

But on her face mine eyes might never rest.

Yet since she knew I did her love and serve,

Her golden tresses clad alway with black,

Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore,

And that restrains which I desire so sore.

So doth this cornet govern me alack!

In summer, sun, in winter’s breath, a frost;

Whereby the light of her fair looks I lost.