Said one, ‘My lady must be fair,
With gold hair on her head.’
Then spake the other knight-at-arms:
‘I care not for her face,
But she I love must be a dove
For purity and grace.’
And each knight blew upon his horn
And went his separate way,
And each knight found a lady-love
Before the fall of day.
But she was brown who should have had
The shining yellow hair —
I ween the knights forgot their words
Or else they ceased to care.
For he who wanted purity
Brought home a wanton wild,
And when each saw the other knight
I ween that each knight smiled.