"Like as the rising morning shows a grateful lightening, When sacred night is past and winter now lets loose the spring, So glittering Helen showed among the maids, lusty and tall, As is the furrow in a field that far outstretcheth all, Or in a garden is a Cypress tree, or in a trace A steed of Thessaly, so she to Sparta was a grace, No damsel with such works as she her baskets used to fill, Nor in diverse coloured web a woof of greater skill Doth cut from off the loom: nor hath such songs and lays Unto her dainty harp, in Dian’s and Minerva’s praise, As Helen hath, in whose bright eyes all Loves and Graces be. O fair, O lovely maid, a matron now is made of thee; But we will every spring unto the leaves in meadows go To gather garlands sweet, and there not with a little woe, Will often think of thee, O Helen, as the suckling lambs Desire the strouting bags and presence of their tender dams; We all betimes for thee a wreath of Melitoe will knit, And on a shady plane for thee will safely fasten it, And all betimes for thee, under a shady plane below, Out of a silver box the sweetest ointment will bestow, And letters shall be written in the bark that men may see And read, ‘Do humble reverence, for I am Helen’s tree.’"