Orfeo

On the last step, my joy was uncontained;
My love with me returned, and all was well,
Saved at the last, and borne straight out of hell
From which all joy or happiness is strained
Save that small share its monarch has maintained
For his own use. I could not wait to tell
How I had hustled them and run pell-mell
Upwards from those lands where darkness reigned.
And so I turned to sing a song to her,
Her for whose sake I went, for whom returned,
Without whom I am nothing, nor desire
To be more. But oh, I wish I were
Far less, for with that motion brief I learned
It was too early: she turned back to fire.