When Count Garin knew his son Aucassin still loved but one, That his heart was ever set Fondly on fond Nicolette; Straight a prison he hath found, Paved with marble, walled around, Where in vault beneath the earth Aucassin made little mirth, But with wailing filled his cell In such wise as now I tell. "Nicolette, white lily-flow'r, Sweetest lady found in bow'r; Sweet as grape that brimmeth up Sweetness in the spicèd cup. On a day this chanced to you; Out of Limousin there drew One, a pilgrim, sore adread, Lay in pain upon his bed, Tossed, and took with fear his breath, Very dolent, near to death. Then you entered, pure and white, Softly to the sick man's sight, Raised the train that swept adown, Raised the ermine-bordered gown, Raised the smock, and bared to him Daintily each lovely limb. Then a wondrous thing befell, Straight he rose up sound and well, Left his bed, took cross in hand, Sought again his own dear land. Lily-flow'r, so white, so sweet, Fair the faring of thy feet, Fair thy laughter, fair thy speech, Fair our playing each with each. Sweet thy kisses, soft thy touch, All must love thee over much. 'Tis for thee that I am thrown In this vaulted cell alone; 'Tis for thee that I attend Death, that comes to make an end, For thee, sweet friend." Now they say and tell and relate: