This is the honeyed food she gave her lover,
    To make him, so it pleased her, half-divine;
    Nectar is not so fine,
  Nor ambrosy, the fabled feast of Jove. 
  Then, yielding proofs more clear and strong of love,
    As though to show the faith within her heart,
    She moved, with subtle art,
  Her feet accordant to the amorous air. 
  But while I gaze and pray to God that ne’er
    Might cease that happy dance angelical,
    O harsh, unkind recall! 
  Back to the banquet was she beckoned. 
  She, with her face at first with pallor spread,
    Then tinted with a blush of coral dye,
    ‘The ball is best!’ did cry,
  Gentle in tone and smiling as she spake. 
  But from her eyes celestial forth did break
    Favour at parting; and I well could see
    Young love confusedly
  Enclosed within the furtive fervent gaze,
  Heating his arrows at their beauteous rays,
    For war with Pallas and with Dian cold. 
    Fairer than mortal mould,
  She moved majestic with celestial gait;
  And with her hand her robe in royal state
    Raised, as she went with pride ineffable. 
    Of me I cannot tell,
  Whether alive or dead I there was left. 
  Nay, dead, methinks! since I of thee was reft,
    Light of my life! and yet, perchance, alive—­
    Such virtue to revive
  My lingering soul possessed thy beauteous face,
  But if that powerful charm of thy great grace
    Could then thy loyal lover so sustain,
    Why comes there not again
  More often or more soon the sweet delight? 
  Twice hath the wandering moon with borrowed light
    Stored from her brother’s rays her crescent horn,
    Nor yet hath fortune borne
  Me on the way to so much bliss again. 
  Earth smiles anew; fair spring renews her reign: 
    The grass and every shrub once more is green;
    The amorous birds begin,
  From winter loosed, to fill the field with song. 
  See how in loving pairs the cattle throng;
    The bull, the ram, their amorous jousts enjoy: 
    Thou maiden, I a boy,
  Shall we prove traitors to love’s law for aye? 
  Shall we these years that are so fair let fly? 
    Wilt thou not put thy flower of youth to use? 
    Or with thy beauty choose
  To make him blest who loves thee best of all? 
  Haply I am some hind who guards the stall,
    Or of vile lineage, or with years outworn,
    Poor, or a cripple born,
  Or faint of spirit that you spurn me so? 
  Nay, but my race is noble and doth grow
    With honour to our land, with pomp and power;
    My youth is yet in flower,
  And it may chance some maiden sighs for me. 
  My lot it is to deal right royally
    With all the goods that fortune spreads around,
    For still they more abound,
  Shaken from her full lap, the more I waste. 
  My strength is such as whoso tries shall