Till the slow daylight pale,

    A willing slave, fast bound to one above,

I wait; he seems to speed, and change, and fail;

    I know he will not move.

I lift my golden orb

    To his, unsmitten when the roses die,

And in my broad and burning disk absorb

    The splendours of his eye.

His eye is like a clear

    Keen flame that searches through me: I must droop [10]

Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere;

    To mine he cannot stoop.

I win not my desire,

    And yet I fail not of my guerdon; lo!

A thousand flickering darts and tongues of fire

    Around me spread and glow.

All rayed and crowned, I miss

    No queenly state until the summer wane,

The hours flit by; none knoweth of my bliss,

    And none has guessed my pain. [20]