74. Wherein He Complains of Laura That, Aware of His Passion, She Feigns Not to Know It -
WHEREIN HE COMPLAINS OF LAURA THAT, AWARE OF HIS PASSION, SHE FEIGNS NOT TO KNOW IT
Could I in living lines my thoughts enclose
As in my heart I shut their shadows in,
No soul so savage but my song would win
To pity and to burning Ah's and Oh's.
But you, dear fatal eyes, that dealt the blows
Against which shield and helmet proved too thin,
You see me through and through stripped to the skin,
Though never I lament my secret woes.
And still, since through my heart your high look pours
A flame of light as floods the sun through glass,
Suffice the flame without the phrase's force.
The faith that hallowed Mary, Peter — alas,
That faith goes hard with me, despondent, lonely,
Who know that you know, you alone, you only.
Could I in living lines my thoughts enclose
As in my heart I shut their shadows in,
No soul so savage but my song would win
To pity and to burning Ah's and Oh's.
But you, dear fatal eyes, that dealt the blows
Against which shield and helmet proved too thin,
You see me through and through stripped to the skin,
Though never I lament my secret woes.
And still, since through my heart your high look pours
A flame of light as floods the sun through glass,
Suffice the flame without the phrase's force.
The faith that hallowed Mary, Peter — alas,
That faith goes hard with me, despondent, lonely,
Who know that you know, you alone, you only.
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