These sorrowing sighs, the smokes of mine annoy; These tears, which heat of sacred flame distills; Are these due tributes that my faith doth pay Unto the tyrant whose kindness kills. I sacrifice my youth and blooming years At her proud feet, and she respects it not; My flower untimely`s wither`d with my tears And winter woes, for spring of youth unfit. She thinks a look may recompence my care, And so with looks prolongs my long-lookt ease; As short that bliss, so is the comfort rare, Yet must that bliss my hungry thoughts appease. Thus she returns my hopes so fruitless ever; Once let her love indeed, or eye me never.SourceThe script ran 0.007 seconds.
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