The Song Of The Young Page

All that I know of love I see     In eyes that never look at me;     All that I know of love I guess     But from another's happiness.     A beggar at the window I,     Who, famished, looks on revelry;     A slave who lifts his torch to guide     The happy bridegroom to his bride.     My granddam told me once of one     Whom all her village spat upon,     Seeing the church from out its breast     Had cast him cursed and unconfessed.     An outcast he who dared not take     The wafer that God's vicars break,     But dull-eyed watched his neighbours pass     With shining faces from the Mass.     Oh thou, my brother, take my hand,     More than one God hath blessed and banned     And hidden from man's anguished glance     The glory of his countenance.     All that I know of love I see     In eyes that never look at me;     All that I know of love I guess     But from another's happiness.