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Sir Dagonet

To such deep hate my lord has come
For blood that once was spilt:
Mark only how his fingers drum
Upon the shining hilt!

Once I smiled into his eyes,
And he smiled back again;
But fear-in-love has made me wise
To hide me from his pain.

If I but were his littlest page,
My dagger were so keen,
Were his foe's heart on Mary's knee,
I'd strike it swift and clean.
There should be healing for his rage,
His flaming hate run cool,
If I his littlest page might be:
Now God in mercy pity me
Who am my master's fool!