Chapter CXIV

Yet ne’ertheless would I make holiday;
Exchange love’s martyrdom; be light of heart;
Take note of others who enjoy love’s art;
Make measurable sport of what I may;
Seek men and women who are blithe and gay;
Forget the past and love’s more cruel mart,
Wherein doth sorrow play so large a part;
And mirror life in a more mirthful way.
Oh! that I might be now the youth I was,
Before love’s mastery enslaved my soul:
Free in my fancy, free from life’s stern laws,
When love of life alone was my heart’s goal.
Then hath it need of holiday, because
For long it heareth nightly love’s dirge toll.