LAMENT OF THE COMELY LASS. A poem by Ann Wilson

Behold, the dark night cometh
It bringeth silver shadows.
'Twas such a night,
when first we met,
In sweetest moonlit meadows.

Thou kissed my hand so gently,
what maiden could resist?
Thy touch was soft as gossamer,
on this first lover's tryst.

We lay amongst the daises
in dappled moonlight's glow.
My virgin modesty is lost,
'twas o'er eight months ago.

Heavy now, with child am I,
this gown doth hide my plight.
But thou hast left me all alone.
I am a sinner, in God's sight.

So flee I must, to bear my child,
To a convent, goeth I.
My first-born child, to see no more;
'Tis my fate now, ere I die.