Then you were mine,
But only mine in part.
You loved the world,
And so I lost my heart.
Only my tutor lay abed, calling us savages, and read
His pagan books. The fever would abate, he sneered, when we were bled.
He chilled me. His head was like a block of ice, so clear. He tried to shock
Me with his whispered flings that saints and monarchs came of laughing-stock,
Or boasted some loud organ, Reason, which doctors had confused with treason,
Looked round lest walls should hear, then wept that he was one born out of season.