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You are to me the secret of my soul
And I to you what no man yet has been.
I, your Prometheus, fire from Heaven stole
And for my theft the world's revenge is keen.
What I have done for you no man has done;
I have nor begged nor bought a common bliss,
But what you are to me you were to none.
And I will suffer this, and more than this,
And much beyond that more, a martyrdom
Without the crown of a celestial birth,
Or any hope of any world to come
Exalting most what lowest was on Earth,
The passion purest of all out of Heaven,
The love in Hell least easily forgiven.
