Chapter V: Love's Malice

Cruel is Love, ah cruel, and what can I do more
Than moaning love is cruel, repeat it o'er and o'er?
I know the boy is laughing and pleased that I grow grim,
And just the bitter things I say are the bread of life to him.
But you that from the grey-green wave arising, Cyprian, came,
'Tis strange that out of water you should have borne a flame.