Classic Poem

Sonnet. VI.

I am no modell figure, or signe of care,
but his eternall harts consuming essence,
in whom griefes comentaries written are,
drawing grosse passion into pure quintessence.
Not thine eyes fire, but fire of thine eyes disdaine,
fed by neglect of my continuall greeuing,
attracts the true liues spirit of my paine,
and giues it thee, which giues mee no releeuing.
Within thine armes sad Eligies I sing,
vnto thine eyes a true hart loue torne lay I,
thou smell'st from me the sauours sorrowes bring,
my teares to tast, my trueth to touch display I.
Loe thus each sence (deere faire one) I importune,
But beeing care, thou flyest mee as ill fortune.