When first I summoned her, she was a rose,
Unwithering, unchanging, and unthorned,
A spirit of the purest love one knows,
Who never hated, coveted, or scorned.
A second time I drew her 'cross the Veil,
And shared a walk, a dance, a stolen kiss;
With such a perfect beauty, pure and pale,
No woman could compare, no man resist.
Then in my weakness I essayed a third,
Tho' magisters their warnings did impart.
She broke my binding with a single word,
And said this smiling as she clutched my heart:
"Though love I was, your passion's changing fire
Has forged this spirit into cruel Desire."
—Sonnet 126, "The Lover and His Spirit", from A Chant for Dreamers by Magister Oratius