‘I hate him for his mute distress,
’Tis insult he should care!
Because my heart’s all humbleness,
All pride is in my air.
‘With him, each favour that I do
Is bold suit’s hallowing text;
Each gift a bastion levelled, to
The next one and the next.
‘Each wish whose grant may him befall
Is clogged by those withstood;
He trembles, hoping one means all,
And I, lest perhaps it should.
‘Behind me piecemeal gifts I cast,
My fleeing self to save;
And that’s the thing must go at last,
For that’s the thing he’d have.
‘My lock the enforcèd steel did grate
To cut; its root-thrills came
Down to my bosom. It might sate
His lust for my poor shame!
‘His sifted dainty this should be
For a score ambrosial years!
But his too much humility
Alarums me with fears.
‘My gracious grace a breach he counts
For graceless escalade;
And, though he’s silent ere he mounts,
My watch is not betrayed.
‘My heart hides from my soul he’s sweet:
Ah dread, if he divine!
One touch, I might fall at his feet,
And he might rise from mine.
‘To hear him praise my eyes’ brown gleams
Was native, safe delight;
But now it usurpation seems,
Because I’ve given him right.
‘Before I’d have him not remove,
Now would not have him near;
With sacrifice I called on Love,
And the apparition’s Fear.’