Ode II: To his Lady

If e'er in howling deserts wide, unhabitable lands,
Distressed by equatorial suns and solitary sands;
Or heaped with pathless snows untrod but by the hoarse bleak
blast,
By any accident or change of fortune I were cast,
And knew that in that wilderness, that world of fire or frost,
Thy cruel frowns awaited me at every tract I crossed,
Still would I on in search of thee, through simoom, sand, and
sleet,
Till by unintermitted toil stretched dead before thy feet.

Let now thy pride and coyness end, since ended is the strength
Of him on whom they were discharged, be satisfied at length
That Love, since he desires that all his votaries should enjoy
Their life, and act as safety bids, is angry with the coy;
Time must pass on, remorse will come for treatment so severe,
Anguish and shame remain for thee, I know it and I fear;
For though I sorrow for myself, since thou must bear a part
For thy disdains, these sorrows pierce more sensibly my heart.

Thus go my hours increasing still materials for regret,
Which, ev'n as though my bitter cup were not o'erflowing yet,
In nothing serves me, but to show as in a lucid glass,
The ruined state in which I stand--the perils that I pass.
Heaven grant that this may profit me to think of some remead,
As I behold thee ever bent to break the bruised reed;
Here am I pointing out to thee the symptoms of my death,
Whilst like the fatal bird thou sitt'st, and steal'st away my
breath!

If paleness past, unconscious sighs breath'd forth for thy stern
sake,
And the long silence I have kept, have had no power to wake
In thee one touch of tenderness, not ev'n enough to raise
The recollected sense that I had ever met thy gaze,
Let my deep sufferings now at length from this time forth suffice,
Making me understand that 'twas my contrast in thine eyes,
My sickness rather than thy scorn that kept my suit at bay,
So will my grief become my good, and sickness prove my stay.

ODE! thou hast nothing more to do with me in bale or bliss,
Treat me as one unknown, with her it will not be amiss;
If fearful of offending me, oh seek not to persuade
By citing more my griefs, by them was all this mischief made.