I know that thou wilt love me; though to drain My blood from out thy being were an aim, And an attainment,-all would be in vain, Still thou wouldst love me, still that more than life retain. CXVIII. The child of love, though born in bitterness, As, with a sigh, I deem thou might'st have been to me! CANTO THE FOURTH. "Visto ho Toscana, Lombardia, Romagna, Ariosto, Satira iii. |