The Poems of William Smith Edited by Lawrence A. Sasek |
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| 48. | SONNET 48.
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 | The Poems of William Smith |  |
85
SONNET 48.
[But of thy hart too cruell I thee tell]
But of thy hart too cruell I thee tell,Which hath tormented my yoong budding age,
And doth (vnlesse your mildnes passions quell)
My vtter ruine neere at hand presage.
Insteed of blood which wont was to display
His ruddy red vpon my hearlesse face,
By ouer greeuing that is fled away,
Pale dying colour there hath taken place.
Those curled locks which thou wast wont to twist
Vnkempt, vnshorne, and out of order beene,
Since my disgrace I had of them no list,
Since when these eies no ioyfull day haue seene,
Nor neuer shall till you renue againe
The mutuall loue, which did possesse vs twaine.
| The Poems of William Smith | |