What new unkindly kind of human pain Had Love not only doled for me to dree But eke on me was wholly execute? Implacable harshness cooling fervency Of Love-Desire (thought's very might and main) Drave me far distant fro' my settled suit, Vext and self-shamed to sight its own pursuit. Hence sombre shades phantastick born and bred Of trifles promising rashest Esperance; While boons of happy chance Were likewise feignèd and enfigurèd. But her despisal wrought me such dismay That made my Fancy phrenesy-ward incline, Turning to disconcert the guiling lure. Here mine 'twas to divine, and hold for sure, That all was truest Truth I could divine; And straightway all I said in shame to unsay; To see whatso I saw in còntrayr way; In fine, just Reasons seek for jealousy Yet were the Unreasons eather far to see. VI I know not how she knew that fared she stealing With Eyën-rays mine inner man which flew Her-ward with subtlest passage through the eyne Little by little all fro' me she drew, E'en as from rain-wet canopy, exhaling The subtle humours, sucks the hot sunshine. The pure transparent geste and mien, in fine, Wherefore inadequate were and lacking sense "Beauteous" and "Belle" were words withouten weight; The soft, compassionate Eye-glance that held the spirit in suspense: Such were the magick herbs the Heavens all-wise Drave me a draught to drain, and for long years To other Being my shape and form transmew'd; And this transforming with such joy I view'd That e'en my sorrows snared I with its snares; And, like the doomèd man, I veiled mine eyes To hide an evil crescive in such guise; Like one caressèd and on flattery fed Of Love, for whom his being was born and bred. VII Then who mine absent Life hath power to paint Wi' discontent of all I bore in view; That Bide, so far from where she had her Bide, Speaking, which even what I spake unknew, Wending, withal unseeing where I went, And sighing weetless for what cause I sigh'd? Then, as those torments last endurance tried, That dreadful dolour which from Tartarus's waves Shot up on earth and racketh more than all, Wherefrom shall oft befall It turn to gentle yearning rage that raves? Then with repine-ful fury fever-high Wishing yet wishing not for Love's surceàse; Shifting to other side for vengeänce, Desires deprived of their esperance, What now could ever change such ills as these? Then the fond yearnings for the things gone by, Pure torment sweet in bitter faculty, Which from these fiery furies could distill Sweet tears of Love with pine the soul to thrill? VIII