WHEREIN HE PROTESTETH HE CAN SING ONLY OF HER

Now I indulge where once myself accused,
Nay, more, I do esteem, regard as dear
This noble prison, this sweet-and-bitter fear
Which for so long in secret I refused.
Invidious Sisters, cruelly you used
That rare and golden frame where light and clear
Twisted my bonds which made even Death appear
Lovely and strange and pleasantly bemused.
For never a soul in its impulsive days,
However proud and plumed with warm delight,
But would exchange the fury and the blaze
To be her bondsman and her anchorite,
Happier to die or live in such a plight
Than, blown with hope, to pipe in others' praise.