He wonders whether to praise or to blame her

I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
  But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
  Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?

Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
  The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you're that high goddess once I thought,
  The more your godhead is, I lose the more.

Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
 Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair, - the blind has lost your face for ever!
 Most foul, - how could I see you while I kissed you?

So . . . the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you.

  1913