Fainter and fainter runs my blood
With desperate fight for breath—
This, my Beloved, thou sayest is Love,
Or I should have deemed it Death!
The First Wife
Ah, my lord, are the tidings true,
That thy mother’s jewels are shapen anew?
I hear that a bride has chosen been,
The stars consulted, the parents seen.
Had I been childless, had never there smiled