WHEREIN HE DISCUSSES HIS HEART — HER HAIR

The gentle gust which spills the knitted flame
Of Love's deft fingers, to the sun must spill it,
The braid above her fine eyes and the fillet
Of fire round her forehead — these things tame
And trouble the heart: each nerve throbs with her name,
Each vein reveals its fear, nor can conceal it,
Approaching her whose dubious scales may will it
Quick death, slow life, brief pleasure, lingering blame.
And watching also how those eyes flash lights,
And how those shoulders gleam with garland hair,
This dazzled heart endures a double snare:
I cannot tell how the dear magic smites,
For that twin glitter burns my reason blind
And too much sweetness overthrows the mind.