This is the rule, and there is no way to free oneself of it: as soon as the thought has arisen, it must be followed to the very end.
“Korè my heart is, let it stand sans gloze!
Love’s pain is long, and lo, love’s joy is brief!
My heart erst alway sweet is bitter grown;
As crimson ruleth in the good green’s stead,
So grief hath taken all mine old joy’s share
And driven forth my solace and all ease
Where pleasure bows to all-usurping pain.”
Ezra Pound | “Canzon: The Yearly Slain”