XVII.
If I am wax to thy sweet will, and hence
Sun myself only in thy sight, (and he
Who views thy radiance uninflamed, must be
Void of all feeling) whence, Señora, whence
Rises a circumstance, whose strange offence
Against the laws of reason, had it been
Less seldom proved on me—less seldom seen,
Had led me to mistrust my very sense—
Whence comes it, that far-off I am inflamed
And kindled by thy aspect, even until
My melting heart its fervour scarce sustains,
Whilst if encountered near by thine untamed,
Untameably bright eye, an instant chill
Makes the blood curdle in my crimson veins?