I once loved a lad, and I loved him so well
That I hated all others who spoke of him ill;
And I was rewarded full well for my care
By the laughter and joy that he brought me.

Long years used as a slave, in torture and shame;
Imprisoned and broken, he was hounded and blamed:
Till at last he prevailed, like the prince in the tales,
When he stood to defy his abusers.

It was not for pity that I took his part,
But for seeing the strength of his soul and his heart,
For his goodness and grace, and his sweet gentle face:
I was proud as a queen just to know him.

Though he bled from a wound that no magic could mend
He was gallant and witty, a true loving friend;
There was no-one on earth with whom I'd rather be,
And no man that I ever loved better.

Though I loved his laughter, his unclouded clear soul,
His spirit and courage, his sharp wit and skill,
Still I never learned if he would have loved me,
For time flowed through our fingers like water.

A trouper, a player with flair and elan;
A clown and a lion, a true gentle-man:
I'll drink to the kind lad who never was mine,
Who could drain the full cup and be merry.

I once loved a lad, and I loved him so well
That I hated all others who spoke of him ill:
But the past, as they say, is another country,
And besides the lad is dead.