22.07.2007, 13:40
O cruel beauty, meekness inhumane,
That night and day contend with my desire,
And seek my hope to kill, not quench my fire,
By death, not balm, to ease my pleasant pain;
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire,
And bound my bliss, do not, alas! disdain
That I your matchless worth and grace admire,
And for their cause these torments sharp sustain.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death,
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,
And Phaëthon, that heaven him reft of breath,
And Dædal's son, he nam'd the Samian streams:
Their haps I envy not; my praise shall be,
The fairest she that liv'd gave death to me.
That night and day contend with my desire,
And seek my hope to kill, not quench my fire,
By death, not balm, to ease my pleasant pain;
Though ye my thoughts tread down which would aspire,
And bound my bliss, do not, alas! disdain
That I your matchless worth and grace admire,
And for their cause these torments sharp sustain.
Let great Empedocles vaunt of his death,
Found in the midst of those Sicilian flames,
And Phaëthon, that heaven him reft of breath,
And Dædal's son, he nam'd the Samian streams:
Their haps I envy not; my praise shall be,
The fairest she that liv'd gave death to me.