2.

For though wed to a maiden in spring-tide youthfully budding,

Maiden crisp as a petulant kid, as airily wanton,

Sweets more privy to guard than e'er grape-bunch shadowy-purpling;

He, he leaves her alone to romp idly, cares not a fouter.

Nor leans to her at all, the man's part; but helpless as alder

Lies, new-fell'd in a ditch, beneath axe Ligurian ham-strung,

As alive to the world, as if world nor wife were at issue.

Such this gaby, my own, my arch fool; he sees not, he hears not

Who himself is, or if the self is, or is not, he knows not.

Him I'd gladly be lowering down thy bridge to the bottom,

If from stupor inanimate peradventure he wake him,

Leaving muddy behind him his sluggish heart's hesitation,

As some mule in a glutinous sludge her rondel of iron.

26 Rondel.