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From Project Gutenberg e-text #23684 (public domain in the USA).
Love in a hut, with water and a crust, Is--Love, forgive us!--cinders, ashes, dust; Love in a palace is perhaps at last More grievous torment than a hermit's fast:-- That is a doubtful tale from faery land, Hard for the non-elect to understand.
The lady, ever watchful, penetrant, Saw this with pain, so arguing a want Of something more, more than her empery Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh Because he mused beyond her, knowing well That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell.