His wed of fire has burnt his bride!          
         O slacked is deadest the soft good.
          vow!                                                  ­             I, his honey, should extract his.
           pride!
      His tune, cloth, air, and every
      moneyed bough!                                                  
May I not vain the bride or he,                  
       As I can see the future of glee!

With flames of flight as peace by knife,                                                   
 With cliffs of lace by hinds at perch,                                                    
Else is or risen be, my mind by my wife.

My heart, know I, an earth is.

Where so lost my Eve to civil night?                                                       
 In­ heaven's light but as not young
Dusk,                                                            ­               In night its own but rouse my
                star's right.

I awe the wooer that spell has.
   made,                                                        
To time and fertile Eves,                     
   My eyes for light as sun for shade.