WHEREIN THE APPARITION OF LAURA GENTLY REBUKES AND HEARTENS HIM

With tears and dolour from the Seigneur's hoard
I constantly renew my heart's despair;
I feel age gray me over as I stare
Often upon Love's wound, Love's red reward.
But she, in loveliness the sovereign sword
Of all her sex, on whom I hardly dare
To look — sits by my bed, smooths my dank hair,
The piteous angel of a difficult Lord.
And that hand, that long-hungered-for white hand
Restrains my tears, while at her tones I soar,
My soul revives, my soul moves and can stand
Propped by that sweetness... Then, " Ah, weep no more!
What folly pain hath taught thee! Would that thine
Were such a life as such a death is mine! "