A sonnet written in the English style.
The herald’s duty is but to his lord
In battle, no one else his service earns.
So why should love a herald’s heart afford,
Why should the herald passionately yearn?
No, stay the heart, oh muses; give him peace!
His confidences keep far locked away.
For much he has to do before release
His heart can take, with flights of fancy play.
The herald must attend the battlefield,
And put aside all thoughts of maidens fair.
To death and battle all his moments yield,
His solace drowning only in despair.
This much of love is to his spirit known:
In either war, the herald stands alone.
