It is not that I love you less br Than when before your feet I lay, br But to prevent the sad increase br Of hopeless love, I keep away. br br In vain (alas!) for everything br Which I have known belong to you, br Your form does to my fancy bring, br And makes my old wounds bleed anew. br br Who in the spring from the new sun br Already has a fever got, br Too late begins those shafts to shun, br Which Phœbus through his veins has shot. br br Too late he would the pain assuage, br And to thick shadows does retire; br About with him he bears the rage, br And in his tainted blood the fire. br br But vow'd I have, and never must br Your banish'd servant trouble you; br For if I break, you may distrust br The vow I made to love you, too.