Thoughts too divine to rise in utterance,
Which even lovers’ tongues may never tell,
Though their hearts feel them, fluttering with wings.
I would some sleight of thine had filled the cup
With a love-potion, such as Iseult gave
To Tristram, while they journeyed to King Marc
In their beaked ship across the glooming sea,
And thou hadst tasted of it, ere my lips
Drank of the potent venom. But, O Prince,
No potion is there to increase my love: