Some weaker pupil you must find,
For were you queen of all that is,
I could not stoop to such a mind.
You sought to prove how I could love,
And my disdain is my reply;
The lion on your old stone gates
Is not more cold to you than I.
"Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
You put strange memories in my head;
Not thrice your branching limes have blown