XXI.
“But, woe is me, alas! and, what can I
“Save my irrational desire lament?
“Which makes me soar a pitch so passing high,
“I reach a region, where my plumes are brent;
“Then, unsustained, fall headlong from the sky;
“Nor ends my woe; on other flight intent,
“Again I imp my wings, again I soar;
“To flame and fall, tormented evermore.
XXII.
“Yea; rather of myself should I complain,
“Than the desire, to which I bared my breast
“Whereby was Reason hunted from her reign,
“And all my powers by stronger force opprest.
“Thus borne from bad to worse, without a rein,
“I cannot the unbridled beast arrest;
“Who makes me see I to destruction haste,
“That I more bitterness in death may taste.
XXIII.
“Yet, ah! why blame myself? Wherein have I
“Ever offended, save in loving thee?
“What wonder was it then that suddenly
“A woman’s feeble sense opprest should be?
“Why fence and guard myself, lest bearing high,
“Wise words, and beauty rare should pleasure me?
“Most wretched is the mortal that would shun
“To look upon the visage of the sun.
