Here I am bound by chains of love, ’tis true;
I struggle hence to escape from this hell.
But I keep me for so I see me well,
And my own soul is mine as mine it grew.
You I do not desire as lovers do,
Yet what might happen, naught of us can tell—
Inconstant love hath worser foes befell—
And words by words are wont to misconstrue.
These chains for now I hold. I’m still my own.
I wait for one to strike me to the bone,
One whom I’ll serve, one who will sympathise:
Perhaps it’s you, perhaps I’ll fall again—
And when I finally let you take my chain,
Comfort me, mistress; drown me not in sighs.