To wreak a vengeance gentle and sublime,
Punish a thousand wrongs by one day's blow:
Stealth-handed Love once more took up his bow
And, master marksman, found the place and time.

My power retreated to my eyes and heart
To stand ground in that double citadel
Till the relentless, mortal blow befell
That place that blunted every other dart.

It lay thus, heartstruck by that first attack,
With neither space nor strength to stand again
And heed my summons to retaliate

Nor yet a battle plan to draw me back
From torment up to high and safe terrain,
Torment it tries to spare me all too late.