Amid the blue and there upon a star,
I dreamt of love exquisite, I can vow,
If wary birds hath wings, or beasts a scar,
Then I would have my fond eyes set on thou.
I dream the day if thou shall ask it me,
To be the one to stroll within thy wood
With thee, and though how I desire of thee,
Thou art not Romeo, by name or blood.
‘Twas on that starry eventide of nights,
Whence hymn of owls, nightfowls, awoke my trance.
Their song was quite divine, and yet the sight
Not meant for eyes of sores, nor would I chance.
Shall thou be mine, or shall thy love be mine?
A woe of mine, for both shall thou decline.