This page needs to be proofread.
XXXVIII
That day wherein mine eyes cannot her see,
Which is the essence of their crystal sight,
Both blind, obscure and dim that day they be,
And are debarrèd of fair heaven's light;
That day wherein mine ears do want to hear her,
Hearing that day is from me quite bereft;
That day wherein to touch I come not near her,
That day no sense of touching I have left;
That day wherein I lack the fragrant smell,
Which from her pleasant amber breath proceedeth,
Smelling that day disdains with me to dwell,
Only weak hope my pining carcase feedeth.
But burst, poor heart, thou hast no better hope,
Since all thy senses have no further scope!
