LONG have mine eyes gazed with delight, Conveying hopes unto my soul; In nothing happy, but in sight Of her, that doth my sight control: But now mine eyes must lose their light. My object now must be the air; To write in water words of fire; And teach sad thoughts how to despair: Desert must quarrel with Desire. All were appeased were she not fair. For all my comfort, this I prove, That Venus on the sea was born: If seas be calm, then doth she love; If storms arise, I am forlorn; My doubtful hopes like wind do move. |