What death is worse than this?

CXLII

What death is worse than this?
When my delight,
My weal, my joy, my bliss
Is from my sight
Both day and night,
My life, alas, I miss.

For though I seem alive
My heart is hence.
Thus, bootless for to strive
Out of presence
Of my defence,
Toward my death I drive.

Heartless, alas, what man
May long endure?
Alas, how live I then?
Since no recure
May me assure,
My life I may well ban.

Thus doth my torment go
In deadly dread.
Alas, who might live so,
Alive as dead,
Alive to lead
A deadly life in woe?
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