Love stood amazed, at sweet Beauty's pain;
Love would have said, that "all was but vain,
and gods but half divine!"
But when Love saw that Beauty would die,
He, all aghast, to heavens did cry,
"O gods, what wrong is mine!"
Then his tears, bred in thoughts of salt brine,
Fell from his eyes, like rain in sunshine,
expelled by rage of fire.
Yet, in such wise as anguish affords,
He did express in these his last words,
His infinite desire.
"Are you fled, Fair! where are now those eyes?
Eyes but too fair, envièd by the skies?
You angry gods do know!
With guiltless blood, your sceptres you stain!
On poor true hearts, like tyrants you reign!
Unjust! why do you so?"
"Are you false gods! why then do you reign?
Are you just gods! why then have you slain
the life of love on earth?
Beauty! now, thy face lives in the skies!
Beauty! now, let me live in thine eyes,
where bliss felt never death!"
Then from high rock, the rock of despair,
He falls! in hope to smother in the air,
Or else on stones to burst:
Or on cold waves, to spend his last breath;
Or his strange life, to end by strange death.
But Fate forbad the worst!
With pity moved; the gods then changèd Love
To Phœnix's shape, yet cannot remove
his wonted property.
He loves the sun, because it is fair!
Sleep he neglects, he lives but by air!
and would, but cannot die!
