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When Auron on the plain appears,
Awed by a thousand tender fear,
I would approach but dare not move; -
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

Whene'er he speaks, my ravished ear
No other voice than his can hear;
No other wit but his approve; -
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

If he some other swain commend,
Though I was once her fondest friend,
Her instant enemy I prove; -
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When he is absent, I no more
Delight in all that pleased before,
The clearest spring, the shadiest grove; -
Tell me, my heart, if this be love.

When fond of power, of beauty vain,
His nets he spread for every swain,
I strove to hate, but vainly strove; -
Tell me, my heart, if this is love.