XXXVIII.

For unto thee, as through all change, reveal’d Mine inward being lay. In other eyes I had to bow me yet, and make a shield, To fence my burning bosom, of disguise; By the still hope sustain’d, ere long to win Some sanctuary, whose green retreats within My thoughts unfetter’d to their source might rise, Like songs and scents of morn. But thou didst look Through all my soul, and thine e’en unto fainting shook.