O strange event of fortune that befell!
She wandering, and you wandering, each alone,
Met all amiss, and were asunder thrown;
Two who were friends, and should have loved so well!

You knew the worst that in her heart might dwell;
Her best the better flourishes unknown,
Would rather win your welfare than be shown,
Would give such gifts as least of giving tell.

So be it; go your ways: you were the first
To wake stern aspiration in her breast
For conquest, who had chiefly cried for rest,
And one pure draught of joy to slake her thirst;

For this she owes her best-imagined best
To you, who found and spurned in her, her worst.