Thou art not lovelier than lilacs,Śno,
Nor honeysuckle; thou art not more fair
Than small white single poppies,ŚI can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist,Świth moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drinkŚand liveŚwhat has destroyed some men.