53. Wherein, Crossing from Marseilles to Rome -
WHEREIN, CROSSING FROM MARSEILLES TO ROME, THE POET PERCEIVES THAT THOUGH HE FLIES FROM LOVE, LOVE IS THE WINGS
Ah Love, when hath mere caution once availed
Against thy strength since man betrayed his trust!
The frequent snare, the oath that turns to dust
Give sharp proof how thy talons have not failed;
But lately, to my marvel, as I sailed
Between the Tuscan shore and Elba, thrust
Before mine eyes this miracle that must
Be told accused me and my spirit quailed:
I fled thine outstretched hand and as I fled,
A wanderer unknown, the roaring race
Of winds and waves and clouds left me as dead —
When sudden, from I know not what strange place
Thine agents loomed and filled me with the dread
Of fighting fate or covering my face!
Ah Love, when hath mere caution once availed
Against thy strength since man betrayed his trust!
The frequent snare, the oath that turns to dust
Give sharp proof how thy talons have not failed;
But lately, to my marvel, as I sailed
Between the Tuscan shore and Elba, thrust
Before mine eyes this miracle that must
Be told accused me and my spirit quailed:
I fled thine outstretched hand and as I fled,
A wanderer unknown, the roaring race
Of winds and waves and clouds left me as dead —
When sudden, from I know not what strange place
Thine agents loomed and filled me with the dread
Of fighting fate or covering my face!
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