Sonnets, Etc, XVII

If I am wax to thy sweet will, and hence Sun myself only in thy sight, (and he Who views thy radiance uninflamed, must be Void of all feeling) whence, Señora, whence Rises a circumstance, whose strange offence Against the laws of reason, had it been Less seldom proved on me—less seldom seen, Had led me to mistrust my very sense— Whence comes it, that far-off I am inflamed And kindled by thy aspect, even until My melting heart its fervour scarce sustains, Whilst if encountered near by thine untamed, Untameably bright eye, an instant chill Makes the blood curdle in my crimson veins?