What showers arise, blown with the windy tempest of my heart
Absence from those we love is self from self - a deadly banishment.
Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends.
The attempt and not the deed confounds us.
It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.
Shine out fair sun, till I have bought a glass, That I may see my shadow as I pass.