The form of beauty, that my will can take
To be its shield and armor against thee.
Abandoned, I decline, till everything
Doth vanish, that I am and I possess;
The thought that haply I may suffer less,
Destroyeth me beyond all suffering.
No hope of safety, when to turn and flee
Will only speed an enemy’s career;
The slower from the fleeter cannot stray;
Yet Love consoleth and caresseth me,