What deceit I view, nay, venal sorcery
that bears your apparition hither.
What sweet, shy you may appear unto me
quick dares more premonition to wither.
If I could see you truly and through the veil
the moment would only swell further.
If I would feel you move me and pierce the mail
the torment would only strike surer.
Black art that brings you and hastens the vex
to madden and scourge my marrow
back dart on the wing and chasten the hex
to placate and purge thy harrow.