Nay, lady, though I love thee, I make pause
Before thy question, and know naught to say;
Art cannot teach me to define the way,
Love led me, nor e’en register Love’s cause.

It can but blazon in this verse of mine
What love does for me; what from Love it gains;
What is its quickening; but it refrains
From divination where thy merits shine.

Canst thou, indeed, not tell what wrought in thee
To bring me as a captive to thy feet?
Canst thou not say, “‘Twas this that made decree

Of conquest; here thy soul with mine did meet?”
Or is it that both stand amazed before
The shrine where thou hast blessed and I adore?