Was not this 'love' that came to me?
    Did we not soar with careless sight?

Touch not the moon, did I with thee?
    Could I have dreamt a wingless flight?

Doth fable spin a web attuned,
    That I've been blind with 'yearn'?

'Tis mortal pain when a bosom's wound
    is awakened to taste- 'spurn'.