T was my chance, unhappy chance to me!

As, all alone, I wandered on my way;

Void of distrust, from doubt of dangers free,

To pass a grove where Love in ambush lay:

Who aiming at me with his feathered dart,

Conveyed it by mine eye unto my heart.

Where, retchless boy! he let the arrow stick,

When I, as one amazèd, senseless stood.

The hurt was great, yet seemèd but a prick!

The wound was deep, and yet appeared no blood!