HE PRAISES HIS WIFE White hands of languorous grace, Fair feet of stately pace And snowy-shining knees -- My love was made of these. Stars glimmered in her hair, Slim was she, satin-fair, Dark like seal's fur her brows Shadowed her cheek's fresh rose. What words can match its worth, That beauty closed in earth, That courteous, stately air, Winsome and shy and fair. To have known all this and be Tortured with memory Curse on this waking breath Makes me in love with death. This house now dark to me A lonely shell in place Of that unrivalled grace. -- Anon. 15th-16th century poem from the Irish, translator unknown to me.