straightway stricken sore,
     My heart bowed low to Love, the conqueror. 
     And ah! no false and fleeting love is mine,
     Such as for painted beauty feigns to pine;
     Nor doth my passion, although deep and strong,
     Seek its own wicked pleasure in thy wrong. 
     Nay; on this journey I would rather die
     Than know that thou hadst fallen, and that I
     Had wrought thy shame and foully brought to harm
     The virtue which thy heart wraps round thy form. 
     ’Tis thy perfection that I love in thee,
     Nought that might lessen it could ever be
     Desire of mine—­indeed, the nobler thou,
     The greater were the love I to thee vow. 
     I do not seek an ardent flame to quench
     In lustful dalliance with some merry wench,
     Pure is my heart, ’neath reason’s calm control
     Set on a lady of such lofty soul,
     That neither God above nor angel bright,
     But seeing her, would echo my delight. 
     And if of thee I may not be beloved,
     What matter, shouldst thou deem that I have proved
     The truest lover that did ever live? 
     And this I know thou wilt, one day, believe,
     For time, in rolling by, shall show to thee
     No change in my heart’s faith and loyalty. 
     And though for this thou mayst make no return,
     Yet pleased am I with love for thee to burn,
     And seek no recompense, pursue no end,
     Save, that to thee, I meekly recommend
     My soul and body, which I here consign
     In sacrifice to Love’s consuming shrine. 
     If then in safety I sail back the main
     To thee, still artless, I’ll return again;
     And if I die, then there will die with me
     A lover such as none again shall see. 
     So Ocean now doth carry far away
     The truest lover seen for many a day;
     His body ’tis that journeys o’er the wave,
     But not his heart, for that is now thy slave,
     And from thy side can never wrested be,
     Nor of its own accord return to me. 
     Ah! could I with me o’er the treach’rous brine
     Take aught of that pure, guileless heart of thine,
     No doubt should I then feel of victory,
     Whereof the glory would belong to thee. 
     But now, whatever fortune may befall,
     I’ve cast the die; and having told thee all,
     Abide thereby, and vow my constancy—­
     Emblem of which, herein, a diamond see,
     By whose great firmness and whose pure glow
     The strength and pureness of my love thou’lt know. 
     Let it, I pray, thy fair white finger press,
     And thou wilt deal me more than happiness. 
     And, diamond, speak and say:  ’To thee I come
     From thy fond lover, who afar doth roam,
     And strives by dint of glorious deeds to rise
     To the high level of the good and wise,
     Hoping some day that haven to attain,
     Where thy sweet favours shall reward his pain.”