Sonnet 43 -
My Delia hath the waters of mine eyes
The ready handmaids on her grace attending,
That never fall to ebb, but ever rise,
For to their flow she never grants an ending.
Th'Ocean never did attend more dulie
Upon his soveraigne's course, the night's pale Queen,
Nor paid the impost of his waves more truely
Then mine unto her Deitie have been.
Yet nought the rock of that hard hart can move,
Where beate these teares with zeale, and fury driveth:
And yet I rather languish in her love
Then I would joy the fairest shee that liveth.
I doubt to finde such pleasure in my gayning,
As now I taste in compasse of complayning.
The ready handmaids on her grace attending,
That never fall to ebb, but ever rise,
For to their flow she never grants an ending.
Th'Ocean never did attend more dulie
Upon his soveraigne's course, the night's pale Queen,
Nor paid the impost of his waves more truely
Then mine unto her Deitie have been.
Yet nought the rock of that hard hart can move,
Where beate these teares with zeale, and fury driveth:
And yet I rather languish in her love
Then I would joy the fairest shee that liveth.
I doubt to finde such pleasure in my gayning,
As now I taste in compasse of complayning.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.