WHEREIN, CROSSING FROM MARSEILLES TO ROME, THE POET PERCEIVES THAT THOUGH HE FLIES FROM LOVE, LOVE IS THE WINGS

Ah Love, when hath mere caution once availed
Against thy strength since man betrayed his trust!
The frequent snare, the oath that turns to dust
Give sharp proof how thy talons have not failed;
But lately, to my marvel, as I sailed
Between the Tuscan shore and Elba, thrust
Before mine eyes this miracle that must
Be told accused me and my spirit quailed:
I fled thine outstretched hand and as I fled,
A wanderer unknown, the roaring race

WHEREIN HE ENTREATS LOVE TO KINDLE IN LAURA'S BOSOM THE FIRE WHICH CEASELESSLY CONSUMES HIM

Alas! how little, in those first fierce days
When Love probed deep, was my heart known to me,
Where by degrees he gained the mastery
Of my whole life in many subtle ways:
I never thought that, with his yeas and nays,
This heart, hammered by time so terribly,
Could show such faintness, such infirmity,
And to its folly its poor pride abase.
From now on, all defence will come too late
Save this, such as it is, to prove my fate,

HAVING RECEIVED SOME FAVOUR, A GLANCE OR SALUTATION, HE TURNS HIS CURSES INTO BLESSINGS

Blest be the day, and blest the month and year,
Season and hour and very moment blest,
The lovely land and place where first possessed
By two pure eyes I found me prisoner;
And blest the first sweet pain, the first most dear,
Which burned my heart when Love came in as guest;
And blest the bow, the shafts which shook my breast,
And even the wounds which Love delivered there.
Blest be the words and voices which filled grove

WHEREIN HE DEPICTS THE MISERY OF PHoeBUS AT THE LOSS OF HIS LOVE

Nine times already had Latona's son
Gazed from the topmost balcony of heaven
For her who shook his breast with sighs; so even
This instant others are with sighs undone;
Then searching wearily, his great eyes run
Hither and thither for some sign or haven;
Ignorant where she lives, like a wild raven
He glared, grief-crazed, for his beloved one;
And so, the clouds of anguish intervening,
Saw not the sweet face turn, which, if I live,

WHEREIN HE PURSUES SOLITUDE, BUT LOVE SHADOWS HIM EVERYWHITHER

Alone, thought-sick, I pace where none has been,
Roaming the desert with dull steps and slow,
And still glance warily about to know
If the herd follows, if the world has seen:
How else the hoofprint of the Philistine
Escape, but in some cave with grief to go!
I look distraught and haggard: I must show
No one how keen Love's tooth is, O how keen!
Meseems the very mountains and the shores,
Rivers and woods must guess the secret I
So seek to hide from men by desert doors —

TO STRAMAZZO OF PERUGIA, WHO INVITED HIM TO WRITE VERSES

If the proud branch, whose honoured leaf defies
The fury of Heaven when Jove thunders loud,
Had not prevented me from being proud
By keeping me uncrowned, my ardent eyes
Should bend with you in your idolatries,
To which our craven age has never bowed;
Alas, that laurelled injury has cowed
My spirit and forced me from the olive trees!
For Ethiopian earth beneath its sun
Never with such heat hissed, as burns my drouth
At loss of what I set my soul upon.

WHEREIN HE CHIDES LOVE THAT COULD WOUND HIM ON A HOLY DAY (GOOD FRIDAY)

It was the morning of that blessed day
Whereon the Sun in pity veiled his glare
For the Lord's agony, that, unaware,
I fell a captive, Lady, to the sway
Of your swift eyes: that seemed no time to stay
The strokes of Love: I stepped into the snare
Secure, with no suspicion: then and there
I found my cue in man's most tragic play.
Love caught me naked to his shaft, his sheaf,
The entrance for his ambush and surprise
Against the heart wide open through the eyes,

THE NATURAL DEATH OF LOVE

R ICHARD one month had with his brother been,
And had his guests, his friends, his favourites seen;
Had heard the rector, who with decent force,
But not of action, aided his discourse:
" A moral teacher! " some, contemptuous, cried;
He smiled, but nothing of the fact denied,
Nor, save by his fair life, to charge so strong replied
Still, though he bade them not on aught rely,
That was their own, but all their worth deny,
They call'd his pure advice his cold morality;

X

The long love that in my thought doth harbour
And in mine heart doth keep his residence
Into my face presseth with bold pretence
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
She that me learneth to love and suffer
And will that my trust and lust's negligence
Be reined by reason, shame, and reverence,
With his hardiness taketh displeasure.
Wherewithal unto the heart's forest he fleeth,
Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,
And there him hideth and not appeareth.
What may I do when my master feareth,

If amorous faith, a heart of guileless ways,
Soft languors, courteously controlled desire,
And virtuous will, kindled with noble fire,
And lengthened wanderings in a lightless maze;
If thoughts, which evermore the brow displays,
Or words that faint and brokenly suspire,
Still checked with fear and shame; if hues no higher
Than the pale violet hath, or love displays;
If holding some one than one's self more dear,
If sorrowing and sighing evermore,
If chewing grief, and rage, and many a cross,
If burning far away, and freezing near,