“Alas that love, whose view is muffled still,
Should without eyes see pathways to his will! Where shall we dine? O me! What fray was here?
Yet tell me not, for I have heard it all. Here's much to do with hate, but more with love. Why then, O brawling love! O loving hate!
O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness! serious vanity!
Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms! Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health! Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is This love feel I, that feel no love in this. Dost thou not laugh?”