Hath did thy stars conspire for thee
To lend of love from love’s own usury
And hath thou art of love’s self-same eye
Of thou love be thy heart to chide
Hath thou art be thy sun’s rise, thy only spring
Of woes thou did curse, thy own love to bring
Lest, I loved of thy heart’s own fearing dream
To live thy own foolishness, to be loved, lo, love seems!
And hath thou be thy self-giving lease
With thou softest lyre, hath thou soothe time to cease
Thou be the world’s chalice, thy love’s furnace
That art be young so in thy poems’ self-done grace
But hath Time did consume thy rare-bred hours
And be thy end, yet thy heart undevoured
Hath this time be spent of vain life for love’s sublime
Thou love be thy joy, thy fall, thy prime
