CIV
THOUGH my true love should be my own undoing,
In leading me where wisdom may disprove,
Yet would I choose, in spite of all, to love,
So I might have the triumph of thy wooing.
Then might I feel that youth I were renewing;
My heart’s sad livery for once remove;
And I might ride through avenues above
The common path that life hath been pursuing.
For nought could equal love, my love, with thee;
Nor could I ever tire of thy praise,
If thou all that I wish wouldst be to me,
And my soul unto Heaven wouldst upraise.
Since in love’s season lovers all agree,
Then give me back what I lose in thy gaze.