He Wonders Whether To Praise Or To Blame Her

I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,

But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.

For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;

Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?

Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,

The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;

But if you're that high goddess once I thought,

The more your godhead is, I lose the more.

Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!

Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!

Most fair, -- the blind has lost your face for ever!

Most foul, -- how could I see you while I kissed you?

So . . . the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,

For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you.