Nay, when I would have sent my verses to thee
To say how harshly my heart is oppressed,
Love in an ashen vision manifest
Appeared and spake: “Say not that I foredo thee,

For though thy friend be he I understand,
He will not yet have his mind so enured
But that to hear of all thou hast endured,
Of that blare flame that hath thee ’neath its hand,

Would blear his mind out. Verily before!
Yea, he were dead, heart, life, ere he should hear
To the last meaning of the portent wrought.

And thou; thou knowest well I am Amor
Who leave with thee mine ashen likeness here
And bear away from thee thine every thought.”