by ev’ry sweet tradition of true hearts,

graven by time, in love with his own lore;

by all old martyrdoms and antique smarts,

wherein love died to be alive the more;

yea, by the sad impression on the shore,

left by the drown’d leander, to endear

that coast for ever, where the billow’s roar

moaneth for pity in the poet’s ear;

by hero’s faith, and the foreboding tear

that quench’d her brand’s last twinkle in its fall;

by sappho’s leap, and the low rustling fear

that sigh’d around her flight; i swear by all,

the world shall find such pattern in my act,

as if love’s great examples still were lack’d.