WHENCE came it that I knew in others’ case
How bitter-sweet and tyrant-slave is love,
How quick to jealous doubt it yieldeth place,
If mine own self did ne’er his power prove?
Whence knew I the deep sense that in the soul
Is thrill’d and thrall’d by perfect beauty’s sight,
If never beauty did myself control
With all the mastery of sovran might?
Since so my heart laid bare what it contain’d
Of understanding of love’s mysteries,
And nought of thine or mine our loving stain’d,
That I should hide it from misprising eyes,
No shame or scruple might my judgement see
To tell of that true love I bore to thee.