Give me the time when loose the reins I flung
Upon the neck of galloping desire.
Give me the angel face that now among
The angels,--tempers Heaven with its fire.
Give the quick step that now is grown so old,
The ready tears--the blaze at thy behest,
If thou dost seek indeed, O Love! to hold
Again thy reign of terror in my breast.
If it be true that thou dost only live
Upon the sweet and bitter pains of man
Surely a weak old man small food can give
Whose years strike deeper than thine arrows can.
Upon life's farthest limit I have stood--
What folly to make fire of burnt wood.
The occasion of the following was probably some more than wonted favor
shown to him by Vittoria.