But make my eyes a sun-glass for my heart,
And let them burn it.”
“May they burn,” I cried,
“Until love’s fragrant opiate fume so strong
It make your brain beclouded as a Turk’s.
But I, alas, though wild o’er many a maid,
Am never mad enough to marry her.”
“You poets,” laugh’d he, “soar above earth so
That common clouds like these can reach you not.
But why say ‘clouds’? for clouds rise o’er a flame