Sonnets
SONNET XXX
I fear me lest unfortune’s counter thrust
Pierce through my throat and rip out my despair.
I feel my heart and that thought shaking there
Which shakes the aspen mind with his distrust,
Seeming to say, “Love doth not give thee ease
So that thou canst, as of a little thing,
Speak to thy Lady with full verities,
For fear Death set thee in his reckoning.”
By the chagrin that here assails my soul
My heart’s parturèd of a sigh so great
It crieth to the spirits: “Get ye gone!”
And of all piteous folk I come on none
Who seeing me so in my grief’s control
Will aid by saying e’en: “Nay, Spirits, wait!”
75
