In divers ways how often have
I tried
If, reft of these, aught mortal
could retain
E’en for a single day
in life my frame:
But, ah! my soul, which has
no rest beside,
Speeds back to those angelic
lights again;
And I, though but of wax,
turn to their flame,
Planting my mind’s best
aim
Where less the watch o’er
what I love is sure:
As birds i’ th’
wild wood green,
Where less they fear, will
sooner take the lure,
So on her lovely mien,
Now one and now another look
I turn,
Wherewith at once I nourish
me and burn.
Strange sustenance! upon my
death I feed,
And live in flames, a salamander
rare!
And yet no marvel, as from
love it flows.
A blithe lamb ’mid the
harass’d fleecy breed.
Whilom I lay, whom now to
worst despair
Fortune and Love, as is their
wont, expose.
Winter with cold and snows,
With violets and roses spring
is rife,
And thus if I obtain
Some few poor aliments of
else weak life,
Who can of theft complain?
So rich a fair should be content
with this,
Though others live on hers,
if nought she miss.
Who knows not what I am and
still have been,
From the first day I saw those
beauteous eyes,
Which alter’d of my
life the natural mood?
Traverse all lands, explore
each sea between,
Who can acquire all human
qualities?
There some on odours live
by Ind’s vast flood;
Here light and fire are food
My frail and famish’d
spirit to appease!
Love! more or nought bestow;
With lordly state low thrift
but ill agrees;
Thou hast thy darts and bow,
Take with thy hands my not
unwilling breath,
Life were well closed with
honourable death.
Pent flames are strongest,
and, if left to swell,
Not long by any means can
rest unknown,
This own I, Love, and at your
hands was taught.
When I thus silent burn’d,
you knew it well;
Now e’en to me my cries
are weary grown,
Annoy to far and near so long
that wrought.
O false world! O vain
thought!
O my hard fate! where now
to follow thee?
Ah! from what meteor light
Sprung in my heart the constant
hope which she,
Who, armour’d with your
might,
Drags me to death, binds o’er
it as a chain?
Yours is the fault, though
mine the loss and pain.
Thus bear I of true love the
pains along,
Asking forgiveness of another’s
debt,
And for mine own; whose eyes
should rather shun
That too great light, and
to the siren’s song
My ears be closed: though
scarce can I regret
That so sweet poison should
my heart o’errun.
Yet would that all were done,
That who the first wound gave
my last would deal;
For, if I right divine,
It were best mercy soon my
fate to seal;
Since not a chance is mine
That he may treat me better
than before,
’Tis well to die if
death shut sorrow’s door.