CANTIGA

Full of grace exceedingly,
As she hath charm and loveliness;
Speak, O sailor of the sea,
And from out thy bark, confess
That never ship nor sail can be
Beautiful as she.
Speak, thou knightly man-at-arms,
Boasting of thy panoply,—
Are horse or sword or war-alarms
Beautiful as she?
Speak, thou shepherd of the hills,
Where thine idle flocks are free,—
Are there peaks or vales or rills
Beautiful as she?