THE SELF-BANISHED.
Reading edition
1 It is not that I love you less, Than when before your feet I lay; But to prevent the sad increase Of hopeless love, I keep away.
2 In vain, alas! for everything Which I have known belong to you, Your form does to my fancy bring, And makes my old wounds bleed anew.
3 Who in the spring, from the new sun, Already has a fever got, Too late begins those shafts to shun, Which Phoebus through his veins has shot;
4 Too late he would the pain assuage, And to thick shadows does retire; About with him he bears the rage, And in his tainted blood the fire.
5 But vow'd I have, and never must Your banish'd servant trouble you; For if I break, you may mistrust The vow I made—to love you too.