Such floods of tears did shed,
As though his floods should quench his flames,
Which with his tears were fed:
"Alas!" quoth he, "but newly born,
In fiery heats I fry,[103]
Yet none approach to warm their hearts
Or feel my fire, but I!
My faultless breast the furnace is,
The fuel wounding thorns;
Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke,