Chanson

My dearest love, I fear I do you wrong
By loving you, for what could I deserve
At your sweet hands? Though graded on a curve,
Even in kindness I cannot belong
In your dear love; despite my own wild, strong
Adoring, and my willingness to serve,
I do you wrong to wish that you would swerve
Towards loving me, off of the narrow, long
Laborous path before you. Even as
These words flew past my lips, those lips were stopped
And all objections I might have were dropped
By her whose right it is to give me grace,
And therefore, by the right she always has,
Kissed my demurral from my guilty face.