Sweet Love, my only treasure,
  For service long unfeignèd
  Wherein I nought have gainèd,
Vouchsafe this little pleasure,
  To tell me in what part
  My Lady keeps her heart.

If in her hair so slender,
  Like golden nets entwinèd
  Which fire and art have finèd,
Her thrall my heart I render
  For ever to abide
  With locks so dainty tied.

If in her eyes she bind it,
  Wherein that fire was framèd
  By which it is inflamèd,
I dare not look to find it:
  I only wish it sight
  To see that pleasant light.

But if her breast have deignèd
  With kindness to receive it,
  I am content to leave it
Though death thereby were gainèd:
  Then, Lady, take your own
  That lives by you alone.