It is not that I have not sought thy face Ceaselessly through the world’s eternal lie, More than all things and throughout every place, Which having seen I were content to die.
But I have sought thee and I have not found; Wherefore my soul is banish’d from delight, And sitteth joyless as a madman bound Seeing vain visions in the loathed night.
I know not even that I do not know, But all things waver before me to and fro; As one half head that would be dead I lie.
And thou, Death, if thy face be really fair, I know not, or but renewal of vanity; Wherefore mine eyes have seen the last despair.