My bright Sun is spent; the dark shadows of
my heartless enemy enter my heart
daily; let chance feed herself on my pain;
she will not turn me from my beloved.
Let chance push that swirling wheel round and round;
my eye is on that humble mark; she wastes
her time, strength if she thinks to draw me to
those prizes, though I've no star to be
my friend or oppose her in this trial.
Only the thought of him shelters me: it
is my cure, the shield I go to war with.
When his light vanished, life's deadly blows were
too much; all I have is what I feel he
sends me from his place in a kinder world.
From B A2:26:68. In MS's RA, V1. Ve2. Key