XII.
I thought, by token of thy matchless form,
To curb thy will, and make thee mine indeed,
From head to foot. There is no other creed
For men and maids, in safety or in storm,
Than this of love. Repentance may be warm,
But love is best, though broken like a reed.
XIII.
"She shall be mine till death!" I wildly said,
"Mine, and mine only." And I vow'd, apace,