My Love is of a birth as rare 
 As ’tis for object, rare and high; 
 It is begotten by Despair 
 Upon Impossibility. 
  
 Magnanimous Despair alone 
 Could show me so divine a thing, 
 Where feeble Hope could ne’er have flown 
 But vainly flapped its tinsel wing. 
  
 And yet I quickly might arrive