To A Fillet, Given Him In Jest, From Her Hair, By A Lady With Whom He Was In Love

Sweet, delicate fillet, who art left behind,
In pledge the joy I merit to redeem,
If, only seeing thee, half lost I seem,
What with the locks round which thou erst didst wind?
Those golden tresses where thou wast entwined,
That hold the sunbeam's glow in light esteem,
I know not if to mock my prayerful dream,
Or if to bind me thou didst them unbind.
Sweet fillet, in my hands I see thee lie,
And that my grief some solace I may show,
As one who hath no other, thee I take:
And if my wish thou dost not satisfy,
Still, in the rule of love, I'll bid her know,
Sometimes we keep the part for the whole's sake.