Оригинален текст
There was a time I thought of mine only
Could it be occurred to me while lonely
I was noble personage
Born to beautify the page
If I used time to set it down
There was a time I thought of mine only
Could it be occured to me while lonely
I was of high lineage
Cast up in a dreadful age
Born to be the hermit of my line
On a windy Saturday
St. Alban's market day
Little did I know
the work I was to do
Or the love I had to show