Her heart's high honour, swell to nurture it,

That it too grow? Hath she no mother-wit,

[40]

Nor sense for living things and innocent,

Nor leap of joy for this good world's content

Of sun and wind, of flower and leaf, and song

Of bird, or shout of children as they throng

The world of mated men and women? Nay,

Persuade me not, O Kypris; but I say

Evil hath been the lore which thou hast taught—

For many have loved my face, and many sought

My breast, and thought it joy supping thereat

Sweetness and dear delight; but out of that

What hath there come to them, to me and all

Mine but hot shame? Not milk, but bitter gall."

So in her high passion she rent herself

And rocked, or hid her face upon the shelf

Of the grim wall, lest he should see the whole

Inexpiable sorrow of her soul.

But he by pity pure made bountiful

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