210 The Lover’s Song

LEND me thy fillet, Love!

I would no longer see:

Cover mine eyelids close awhile,

And make me blind like thee.

Then might I pass her sunny face,

And know not it was fair;

Then might I hear her voice, nor guess

Her starry eyes were there.

Ah! banished so from stars and sun—

Why need it be my fate?

If only she might dream me good

And wise, and be my mate!

Lend her thy fillet, Love!

Let her no longer see:

If there is hope for me at all,

She must be blind like thee.