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109
O! never say that I was false of heart, Though absence seemed my flame to qualify, As easy might I from my self depart As from my soul which in thy breast doth lie: That is my home of love: if I have ranged, Like him that travels, I return again; Just...
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108
What's in the brain that ink may character Which hath not figured to thee my true spirit? What's new to speak, what now to register, That may express my love, or thy dear merit? Nothing, sweet boy; but yet, like prayers divine, I must each day say o'er...
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107
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, And the sad augurs mock their own presage;...
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106
La pythie de Delphes...? When in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme, In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, Of hand, of foot, of...
