Why not have faith to trust this only soul
That ever I had met, to whom my moods
Could be unroll’d, assured of insight there
To read them rightly? Why, ’twas all decreed:
Her power to read my soul gave her the right
To know its love, whatever might be hers.
And were I but to speak the truth to her,
So tell her all, why fear the simple truth?
For I would say I loved her, not her aims.
If then she should prefer her aims to me,