If you with wit and patience reach my chest
And veer in left, be wary of your find:
For you'll become in maze far from my best;
Of scars to newer love, won't be so kind,
As they do mourn like many broken doves;
Together bound that kin have no increase
And call the call of pain from older loves
To flock upon your path, that yours decrease.
But with your loveliness do I believe:
My bitter selves nearby my heart remold-
To grace that yours become my love's reprieve,
Then journey you'd so braved had found my gold:

In golden depth there's hope, but let you know:
If you retreat, how can I blame you so?