Armour

Why lack I so in prowess to oppose?
What quality enfeebles my defence?
Spirit I have, courage that courts her foes.
And I am very proud and nice of sense.
Is it, of Love himself I am equipt
For contest, and with Love I must contend, —
In treachery has he some buckle slipt.
The breastplate not set even to defend?
Though to the rush of onset I am fleet.
And guard within my heart most bitter rage,
I know I am predestined to defeat,
My helm, my spears, a ghostly equipage:
All the fair panoply about me spread,
Thin as the thin gold armour of the dead.