Sonnets
SONNET VIII
Ah why! why were mine eyes not quenched for me,
Or stricken so that from their vision none
Had ever come within my mind to say
“Listen, dost thou not hear me in thine heart?”
Fear of new torments was then so displayed
To me, so cruel and so sharp of edge
That my soul cried, “Ah, mistress, bring us aid,
Lest th’ eyes and I remain in grief always.”
But thou hast left them so that Amor cometh
And weepeth over them so piteously
That there’s a deep voice heard whose sound in part
Turned unto words, is this: “Whoever knoweth
Pain’s depth, let him look on this man whose heart
Death beareth in his hand cut cruciform.”
31
