…0h high-flying falcon! the Tree of Life is thy perch
This nook of grief fits thee ill for a nest.
Hearken! they call to thee down from the ramparts of heaven
I cannot divine what holds thee here in a net.
I, too, have a counsel for thee; 0h, mark it and keep it,
Since I received the same from the Master above:
Seek not for faith or for truth in a world of light-minded girls
A thousand suitors reckons this dangerous bride.
Cumber then not for the world, and this my precept forget not,
'T is but a toy that a vagabond sweetheart has left us.
Accept whatever befalls ; uncover thy brow from thy locks
Never to me nor to thee was option imparted
Neither endurance nor truth belongs to the laugh of the rose…