e me back some life and vigour?
Ye feeble words! ye cannot even tell
How easily her eyes a heart compel;
Nor can ye praise her speech in language fit,
So weak and dull ye are, so void of wit.
Yet there are some things I would have you name--
How mute and foolish I oft time became
When all her grace and virtue I beheld;
How from my 'raptured eyes tears slowly welled
The tears of hopeless love; how my tongue strayed
From fond and wooing speech, so sore afraid,
That all my discourse was of time and tide,
And of the stars which up in Heav'n abide.
O words, alas! ye lack the skill to tell
The dire confusion that upon me fell,
Whilst love thus wracked me; nor can ye disclose
My love's immensity, its pains and woes.
Yet, though, for all, your powers be too weak,
Perchance, some little, ye are fit to speak--
Say to her thus: "Twas fear lest thou shouldst chide
That drove me, e'en so long, my love to hide,
And yet, forsooth, it might have openly
Been told to God in Heaven, as unto thee,
Based as it is upon thy virtue--thought
That to my torments frequent balm hath brought,
For who, indeed, could ever deem it sin
To seek the owner of all worth to win?
Deserving rather of our blame were he
Who having seen thee undisturbed could be.'
None such was I, for, straightway stricken sore,
My heart bowed low to Love, the conqueror.
And ah! no false and fleeting love is mine,
Such as for painted beauty feigns to pine;
Nor doth my passion, although deep and strong,
Seek its own wicked pleasure in thy wrong.
Nay; on this journey I would rather die
Than know that thou hadst fallen, and that I
Had wrought thy shame and foully brought to harm
The virtue which thy heart wraps round thy form.
'Tis thy perfection that I love in thee,
Nought that might lessen it could ever be
Desire of mine--indeed, the nobler thou,
The greater were the love I to thee vow.
I do not seek an ardent flame to quench
In lustful dalliance with some merry wench,
Pure is my heart, 'neath reason's calm control
Set on a lady of such lofty soul,
That neither God above nor angel bright,
But seeing her, would echo my delight.
And if of thee I may not be beloved,
What matter, shouldst thou deem that I have proved
Th