To La Sanscœur

I know not how to call you light,
Since I myself was lighter;
Nor can you blame my changing plight
Who were the first inviter.

I know not which began to range
Since we were never constant;
And each when each began to change
Was found a weak remonstrant.

But this I know, the God of Love
Doth shake his hand against us,
And scorning says we ne'er did prove
True passion — but pretences.