Too well my thought unlocks these cruel lines. Oh drench of grief! I thank ye, piteous powers, Who sent not this without forewarning drops. Oh miserable me! distressful me! Despised, disdained, deserted, desolate: Oh world of dew! Oh morning water drops! Lack-lustre, irksome, dull mortality! Oh now, oh now, that heaven all is black, Wherein the rainbow of my joy did stand! Oh love! oh life! oh life entire in love! All lost, all gone, or just so little left As is not worth the care to throw away! All lost, all gone, wrecked, rifted, sunk, devoured: Wrecked with false lights on Theseus' rocky heart! Oh man, perverse, dry-eyed, untender man, Enchanting man, so sleek so serpent-cold! Was it for this that thou didst swear to me, By all the gods in the three worlds at once, That thou didst love distractedly, and I, With certain tender and ingenuous tears, Did presently confess to thee as much? Was it for this, that I, who had a home, Like an Elysium in the lap of Crete, Did beckon buffets, and, for thee, did dare The rough unknown and outside of the world? Was it for this that thou didst hither bring me, Unto this isle of thorny loneliness, And, in the night, without foreargued cause, Any aggrievance, any allegation, Didst, like a coward traitor, run from me? Thou man of snow! thou art assailed by this-- Be sure of it--thou art begrimed as black As if thou hadst been hanged a thousand years Under the murky cope of Pluto's den. Oh agony! but thou shalt know my soul, Which gropes for daggers at the thought of this. Yea, from the day-beams of adoring love, Goes headlong to as vast a reprobation. Thou, Theseus, wast a cloud, and I a cloud, Quickened from thee with such pervading flame, As that thou canst not now so part from me Without the fiery iterance of my heart. Hear, hear me, love, who on the swathed tops Of ribbed Olympus, and thy steadfast throne, Dost sit the supreme judge of gods and men, And bear within thy palm the living bolt, High o'er the soiled air of this wan world; Look on yon helot wretch, and, wheresoe'er, Coursing what sea, or cabled in what port, The greatness of thine eye may light on him, Crush him with thunder! Thou, too, great Neptune of the lower deeps, Heave thy wet head up from the monstrous sea; Advance thy trident high as to the clouds, And with a not to be repeated blow, Dash the sin-freighted ship of that rash man! And thou, old iron-sceptred Eolus, Shatter the bars of thine enclosed winds; Unhinge the doors of thy great kennel house, And 'twixt the azure and the roaring deep Cry out thy whole inflated Strongyle-- Cry ruin on that man! But wherefore, thus, Do I invoke the speedy desolation Of any mighty magisterial soul,