But where began the change; and what's my crime? 
The wretch condemned, who has not been arraigned, 
Chafes at his sentence. Shall I, unsustained, 
Drag on Love's nerveless body thro' all time? 
I must have slept, since now I wake. Prepare, 
You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods: 
Not like hard life, of laws. In Love's deep woods, 
I dreamt of loyal Life:--the offence is there! 
Love's jealous woods about the sun are curled; 
At least, the sun far brighter there did beam. 
My crime is, that the puppet of a dream, 
I plotted to be worthy of the world. 
Oh, had I with my darling helped to mince 
The facts of life, you still had seen me go 
With hindward feather and with forward toe, 
Her much-adored delightful Fairy Prince!