Sonnets
SONNET V
Lady, my most rash eyes, the first who used
To look upon thy face, the power-fraught,
Were, Lady, those by whom I was accused
In that harsh place where Amor holdeth court.
And there before him was their proof adduced,
And judgment wrote me down: “Bondslave” to thee,
Though still I stay Grief’s prisoner, unloosed,
And Fear hath lien upon the heart of me.
For the which charges, and without respite,
They dragged me to a place where a sad horde
Of such as love and whom Love tortureth
Cried out, all pitying as I met their sight,
“Now art thou servant unto such a Lord
Thou’lt have none other one save only Death.”
25
