The Poems of William Smith Edited by Lawrence A. Sasek |
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| 11. | SONNET 11.
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 | The Poems of William Smith |  |
48
SONNET 11.
[Tell me my deere what mooues thy ruthlesse minde]
Tell me my deere what mooues thy ruthlesse mindeTo be so cruell, seeing thou art so faire?
Did Nature frame thy beautie so vnkinde?
Or dost thou scorne to pitie my despaire?
O no it was not natures ornament,
But winged loues vnpartiall cruell wound,
Which in my hart is euer permanent,
Vntill my Chloris make me whole and sound.
O glorious loue-god thinke on my harts griefe,
Let not thy vassaile pine through deepe disdaine,
By wounding Chloris I shall finde reliefe,
If thou impart to hir some of my paine.
She doth thy temples and thy shrines abiect,
They with Amintas flowers by me are deckt.
| The Poems of William Smith | |