Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 1.pdf/95

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My inmost soul. Oh sweeter far

That rose to me, than violets are

When spring awakes; it drew me on,

Though wiser ’twere if I had gone

Swiftfooted thence in hasty flight;

But oft it haps that folly’s might

Prevails o’er reason, and I bent

My steps towards the rose whose scent

Subdued my will.

A careful watch

This while the archer kept to snatch

Fair field against me as I strove

To reach the fragrant flower, whose love

Entranced my soul.

Now thirdly flew

The shaft hight Courtesy, which through

My heart pierced once again. Adown

I fell at once in deadly swoon.

Stretched out beneath the sombre shade

An olive tree’s broad branches made.

The wound this time was wide and deep.

And when I woke from swooning sleep.

And strove with all my strength and craft

To pluck the weapon forth, the haft,

Alas! was all therefrom I gained.

Fast fixed the jagged barb remained.

Then sitting on the sward upright.

My painful anguish as I might

Brooking, I saw that woe must be

My lot, for this last wound to me

Brought new desire to gain the rose.

And yet again the archer chose