因为一位女士问我,我会告诉的影响that comes often and is fell And is so overweening; Love by name. E'en its deniers can now hear the truth, I for the nonce to them that know it call, Having no hope at all that man who is base in heart Can bear his part of wit into the light of it, And save they know't aright from nature's source I have no will to prove Love's course or say Where he takes rest; who maketh him to be; Or what his active virtu is, or what his force; Nay, nor his very essence or his mode; What his placation; why he is in verb, Or if a man have might To show him visible to men's sight. In memory's locus taketh he his state Place Formed there in manner as a mist of light Upon a dusk that is come from Mars and stays. Love is created, hath a sensate name, His modus takes from soul, from heart his will; From form seen doth he start, that, understood, Taketh in latent intellect As in a subject ready place and abode, Yet in that place it ever is unstill, Spreading its rays, it tendeth never down By quality, but is its own effect unendingly Not to delight, but in an ardour of thought That the base likeness of it kindleth not. It is not virtu, but perfection's source Lying within perfection postulate Not by the reason, but `tis felt, I say. Beyond salvation, holdeth its judging force, Maintains intention reason's peer and mate; Poor in discernment, being thus weakness' friend, Often his power meeteth with death in the end Be he withstayed or from true course bewrayed E'en though he meet not with hate or villeiny Save that perfection fails, be it but a little; Nor can man say he hath his life by chance Or that he hath not stablished seigniory Or loseth power, e'en lost to memory. He comes to be and is when will's so great It twists itself from out all natural measure; Leisure s adornment puts he then never on, Never thereafter, but moves changing state, Moves changing colour, or to laugh or weep Or wries the face with fear and little stays, Yea, resteth little yet is found the most Where folk of worth be host. And his strange property sets sighs to move And wills man look into unformed space Rousing there thirst that breaketh into flame. None can imagine love that knows not love; Love doth not move, but draweth all to him; Nor doth he turn for a whim to find delight Nor to seek out, surely, great knowledge or slight. Look drawn from like, delight maketh certain in seeming Nor can in covert cower, beauty so near, Not yet wild-cruel as darts, So hath man craft from fear in such his desire To follow a noble spirit, edge, that is, and point to the dart, Though from her face indiscernible; He, caught, falleth plumb the spike of the targe. Who well proceedeth, form not seeth, following his own emanation. There, beyond colour, essence set apart, In midst of darkness light light giveth forth Beyond all falsity, worthy of faith, alone That in him solely is compassion born. Safe may'st thou go my canzon whither thee pleaseth Thou art so fair attired that every man and each Shall praise thy speech So we have sense or glow with reason's fire, To stand with other hast thou no desire.