owing epistle:--

"Concealment long and silence have, alas!
Brought me all comfortless to such a pass,
That now, perforce, I must, to ease my grief,
Either speak out, or seek in death relief.
Wherefore the tale I long have left untold
I now, in lonely friendlessness grown bold,
Send unto thee, for I must strive to say
My love, or else prepare myself to slay.
And though my eyes no longer may behold
The sweet, who in her hand my life doth hold,
Whose glance sufficed to make my heart rejoice,
The while my ear did listen to her voice,--
These words at least shall meet her beauteous eyes,
And tell her all the plaintive, clamorous cries
Pent in my heart, to which I must give breath,
Since longer silence could but bring me death.
And yet, at first, I was in truth full fain
To blot the words I'd written out again,
Fearing, forsooth, I might offend thine ear
With foolish phrases which, when thou wast near,
I dared not utter; and 'Indeed,' said I,
'Far better pine in silence, aye, and die,
Than save myself by bringing her annoy
For whose sweet sake grim death itself were joy.'
And yet, thought I, my death some pain might give
To her for whom I would be strong, and live:
For have I not, fair lady, promised plain,
My journey ended, to return again
And guide thee and thy spouse to where he now
Doth yearn to call on God from Sion's brow?
And none would lead thee thither should I die.
If I were dead, methinks I see thee sigh
In sore distress, for then thou couldst not start
Upon that journey, dear unto thy heart.
So I will live, and, in a little space,
Return to lead thee to the sacred place.
Aye, I will live, though death a boon would be
Only to be refused for sake of thee.
But if I live, I needs must straight remove
The burden from my heart, and speak my love,
That love more loyal, tender, deep, and true,
Than, ever yet, the fondest lover knew.
And now, bold words about to wing your flight,
What will ye say when ye have reached her sight?
Declare her all the love that fills my heart?
Too weak ye are to tell its thousandth part!
Can ye at least not say that her clear eyes
Have torn my hapless heart forth in such wise,
That like a hollow tree I pine and wither
Unless hers giv