The Pearl: A Middle English Poem

Pearl that the Prince full well might prize, So surely set in shining gold! No pearl of Orient with her vies; To prove her peerless I make bold: So round, so radiant to mine eyes, smooth she seemed, so small to hold, Among all jewels judges wise Would count her best an hundred fold. Alas! I lost my pearl of old! I pine with heart-pain unforgot; Down through my arbour grass it rolled, My own pearl, precious, without spot.

Since in that spot it slipped from me I wait, and wish, and oft complain; Once it would bid my sorrow flee, And my fair fortune turn again; It wounds my heart now ceaselessly, And burns my breast with bitter pain. Yet never so sweet a song may be As, this still hour, steals through my brain, While verity I muse in vain How clay should her bright beauty clot; O Earth! a brave gem thou dost stain, My own pearl, precious, without spot!

Needs must that spot with spices spread, Where such wealth falleth to decay; Fair flowers, golden and blue and red, Shine in the sunlight day by day; Nor flower nor fruit have witherèd On turf wherein such treasure lay; The blade grows where the grain lies dead, Else were no ripe wheat stored away; Of good come good things, so we say, Then surely such seed faileth not, But spices spring in sweet array From my pearl, precious, without spot.