From “Coy” (xxi)

And if the sun will nor stand still. And 
if a bird will alwaies prey. And if the fire 
will to make ashes. And if rubies be alwaies 
in skin. And if a tear will alwaies to flood. 
Then which for I, now. And which for  him. 
No, which for I. I be willing, at last, to 
sound my soul – show and be transpires! 
This prey still be prey yet make. And hear. 
And think of him and nor of him. And be 
of pleasures. And praise. And run on and on 
till state be winged. And tear through the 
iron gates of him to find an I. And life in this 
day. And life in song. And pass, ecchoing.