Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/119

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Full oft Love’s pains my soul torment,

And bitter plaint, and loud lament,

I make thereof; would Love but grant

To me that sweet for whom I pant,

Ah! then all woes would count as nought,

Seeing that heaven thereby were bought.

But out alas! I ask too much,

How dare I e’en in vision clutch

At prize so high, a stern rebuff

The fool receives, when rash enough

To dream such dreams: if one soft kiss

My love would give me, Gods! what bliss

My soul were wrapt in; richly I

Were paid for all my misery.

To me the future darkly looms,

Whose rash inconsequence presumes

To lift my longing towards a place

So high I scarce dare hope for grace.

More than another’s body were

One single look or glance from her.

Regard my prayer, bestow on me,

O God, the boon once more to see

My soul’s desire; and then my pain

Were cured, and life revived again.

Ah! wherefore lingereth then the light

Of dawn to chase the weary night,

Wherein I nought have known of rest?

How is my ardent heart oppressed

With vain desire of her I love!

Alas! how wearisome doth prove

That couch whence sleep and dreams are fled!

I turn and writhe with drearihead,