Canto LXXIX
Could I have said while he was here‘My love shall now no further range,There cannot come a mellower change,For now is love mature in ear.’
Love, then, had hope of richer store:What end is here to my complaint?This haunting whisper makes me faint,‘More years had made me love thee more.’
But Death returns an answer sweet:‘My sudden frost was sudden gain,And gave all ripeness to the grain,It might have drawn from after-heat.’