But the third wish which fills and fires my heart
    O’ershadows all the rest which near it spring: 
    Time, too, dispels a part,
    While, but for her, self-reckless grown, I sing. 
    And then the rare light of those beauteous eyes,
    Sweetly before whose gentle heat I melt,
    As a fine curb is felt,
    To combat which avails not wit or force;
    What boots it, trammell’d by such adverse ties,
    If still between the rocks must lie her course,
    To trim my little bark to new emprize? 
    Ah! wilt Thou never, Lord, who yet dost keep
    Me safe and free from common chains, which bind,
    In different modes, mankind,
    Deign also from my brow this shame to sweep? 
    For, as one sunk in sleep,
    Methinks death ever present to my sight,
    Yet when I would resist I have no arms to fight.

    Full well I see my state, in nought deceived
    By truth ill known, but rather forced by Love,
    Who leaves not him to move
    In honour, who too much his grace believed: 
    For o’er my heart from time to time I feel
    A subtle scorn, a lively anguish, steal,
    Whence every hidden thought,
    Where all may see, upon my brow is writ. 
    For with such faith on mortal things to dote,
    As unto God alone is just and fit,
    Disgraces worst the prize who covets most: 
    Should reason, amid things of sense, be lost. 
    This loudly calls her to the proper track: 
    But, when she would obey
    And home return, ill habits keep her back,
    And to my view portray
    Her who was only born my death to be,
    Too lovely in herself, too loved, alas! by me.

    I neither know, to me what term of life
    Heaven destined when on earth I came at first
    To suffer this sharp strife,
    ’Gainst my own peace which I myself have nursed,
    Nor can I, for the veil my body throws,
    Yet see the time when my sad life may close. 
    I feel my frame begin
    To fail, and vary each desire within: 
    And now that I believe my parting day
    Is near at hand, or else not distant lies,
    Like one whom losses wary make and wise,
    I travel back in thought, where first the way,
    The right-hand way, I left, to peace which led. 
    While through me shame and grief,
    Recalling the vain past on this side spread,
    On that brings no relief,
    Passion, whose strength I now from habit, feel,
    So great that it would dare with death itself to deal.

    Song!  I am here, my heart the while more cold
    With fear than frozen snow,
    Feels in its certain core death’s coming blow;
    For thus, in weak self-communing, has roll’d
    Of my vain life the better portion by: 
    Worse burden surely ne’er
    Tried mortal man than that which now I bear;
    Though death be seated nigh,
    For future life still seeking councils new,
    I know and love the good, yet, ah! the worse pursue.