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You have discoloured, Death, the loveliest face
That ever was, and quenched the loveliest eyes;
Forcing the locks and breaking all the ties
Of a keen soul in a most lovely case.
An instant all my good doth blast: O base!
On those soft lips your heavy finger lies,
That spoke so sweet, and you endure my cries.
I wander blind with tears from place to place.
’Tis true my Lady comes to help me, then,
When Love and Pity lead her by the hand:
No other succour holdeth life for me.
And if her speech and if her gesture grand
I could impart, I would transform not men,
But tigers, bears, and monsters of the sea.
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