And no content for me from dawn to dark,

From set of sun to song-time of the lark,

And yet, withal, there is no man alive

Who for a goodly cause to make it thrive,

Would do such deeds as I would gird me to

Could I but win the pearl for which I dive.

iii.

It is thy love which, downward in the deep

I

I

I

Of far-off visions, I behold in sleep,—

It is thy pearl of love which in the night

Doth tempt my soul to hopes I dare not write,—

It is this gem for which, had I a crown,

I'd barter peace and pomp, and ermined gown;

It is thy troth, thou paragon of maids!

For which I'd sell the joys of all renown.

iv.

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