"But if I seem as yet too rough and savage unto thee,
Great store of oaken wood I have, and never-quenchèd fire;
And I can well endure my soul to burn with thy desire,
With this my only eye, than which I nothing think more trim:
Now woe is me, my mother bore me not with fins to swim!
That I might dive to thee; that I thy dainty hand might kiss,
If lips thou wouldst not let. Then would I lilies bring iwis,
And tender poppy-toe that bears a top like rattles red,
And these in summer time: but others are in winter bred,
So that I cannot bring them all at once. Now certainly