O beautiful French maiden fair
Who pressed sweet roses to your hair
And with thy snow-white hand
Briefly touched the lily of the land
And with thy art perfection brought
Greek ladies now in profile wrought;
Thy needlework made bright
The miseries of thy plight;
And now so cold, so dead,
These woods look down upon thy head;
But thou witherest not in vain,
Art seen in death, but not in pain.

And thou, cadaver, oh, so cold,
Who for a time did make so bold
And now consumed by wildest beasts
Which upon thee made their feasts,
Tearfully I behold thee right;
Thou art example bright,
For everlasting glory won,
Transient from this life hast gone
For celestial dwelling bound
Though pierced with such a wound.
Pray thee to the God eternal,
Spare us from the hell infernal.
Translation by Robert Weddle
in Wilderness Manhunt