When night's black mantle could most darkness prove

When night's black mantle could most darkness prove,

And sleep, death's image, did my senses hire

From knowledge of myself, then thoughts did move

Swifter than those most swiftness need require:

In sleep, a chariot drawn by winged desire

I saw, where sat bright Venus, Queen of love,

And at her feet her son, still adding fire

To burning hearts, which she did hold above.

But one heart flaming more than all the rest

The Goddess held, and put it to my breast.

'Dear son, now shoot,' said she, 'thus must we win.'

He her obeyed, and martyred my poor heart.

I waking hoped as dreams it would depart;

Yet since, O me, a lover I have been.