IN silver stream, on shallow fountain's shelf,
The lively image saw he in the same;
Who was in love with shadow of himself:
Through pride forgetful how his likeness came.
Such one myself, by chance, I see to be;
When as in river I myself did see:
Yet I myself, instead of loving, hate.
And such strange hatred is this, and so strong;
That while he, loving, died by justest Fate,
Himself by seeing, whilst he himself did wrong:
I die will unto him contrary clean;
'Cause I, hating myself, myself too much have seen.