II.
At length into thy hands I come—to die;
For sure I am that ev'n the poor relief
Of lightening with laments my weight of grief,
Is a desire thy rigour will deny.
How my life has so long been borne, or why
So guardedly sustained, I cannot tell,
Unless for proof how willingly and well
The sword will act that cuts so firm a tie.
My tears have fallen where barrenness and drought
Small fruit have yielded, let what I have wept
For thee suffice—their wasted springs have kept
Pace with my pining; but if still you crave
Tears, cruel Lady, be they henceforth sought
Where the yew weeps o'er Garcilasso's grave!
III.
Awhile my hopes will tower aloft in air
On cheerful wings, till, weary with their flight,
They fall relaxed from their Icarian height,
And leave me on the surges of despair.
This change from bliss to ruin who could bear?
Oh wearied heart! in this thy dark estate
Of wretchedness be vigorous and elate,—
Calms follow storms, and frowning ends in fair.
By force of arm myself will undertake,
Though fraught with danger and alarming ill,
To break a barrier none beside would break;
Death—durance—nought shall countervail my will,
To come to thee, my Beauty, saved or lost,
Or as a living form, or naked ghost!
IV.
Lady, thy face is written in my soul,
And whensoe'er I wish to chant thy praise,
On that illumined manuscript I gaze,
Thou the sweet scribe art, I but read the scroll.
In this dear study all my days shall roll;
And though this book can ne'er the half receive
Of what in thee is charming, I believe
In that I see not, and thus see the whole
With faith's clear eye; I but received my breath
To love thee, my ill Genius shaped the rest;
'Tis now that soul's mechanic act to love thee,
I love thee, owe thee more than I confessed;
I gained life by thee, cruel though I prove thee;
In thee I live, through thee I bleed to death.