One-fourth of all the pain I bare;
And thinking on the Rose I swear,
Woe worse than death my heart did rack,
Yet thence alas ! must turn aback.
XXII
How Reason, well-beloved of God,
The Lover warns that he hath trod
The path of folly, when above
His reason, madly set he love.3100
Then was my soul all desolate
For fear I had received checkmate,
Till Reason saw me from her high
And well-built fort, whence she may spy
The country far around. Forth came
From out her tower that gracious dame
Towards where I stood. Nor young nor old
She seemed, and he forsooth were bold
Who called her short or over-tall.
Or cumbrous big, or scanty small,3110
Of limb or figure. But her eyes
Shone like those glorious stars that rise
Morn-tide and eve. Her head a crown
Bedecked, like queen of high renown.
An angel seemed she, pearl past price,
Born in the realms of paradise,
For neither earth nor Nature bare
A being so surpassing fair.
Sure ’tis, if Holy Writ lie not,
That she the counterfeit hath got
