Have caught the loveliness of palace-homes,
Canst neither quit thy mother-in-law nor shun
The scorn her princely kin to thee accord,
But, moving in the mother’s shade, between
Two fears that haunt thee, lead a tortured life,
Bored by restraint, and maddened by contempt,
Like luckless dweller ’neath Italian Alps,
’Tween ice and sun, and drawing down from both
The chills and scorchings of a double clime.