With wisdom old and word of soberness
Humility reproveth me, and saith:
“What canst thou hope within the vivid sun,
Save be consumed, and find no Phœnix-birth?”
In vain; for helping hand is nothing worth
To rescue life that fain would be undone.
I hear her warn, my peril understand,
Yet inwardly discern a heart concealed,
That tortureth the more, the more I yield;
Between two Deaths my lady seems to stand,