Sonnet 18 from Fidessa, 1596
O, She must love my sorrows to assuage.
O God ! what joy I felt when She did smile !
Whom killing grief before did cause to rage.
(Beauty is able Sorrow to beguile)
Out, traitor Absence ! thou dost hinder me !
And mak'st my Mistress often to forget,
Causing me to rail upon her cruelty,
Whilst thou my suit injuriously dost let !
Again, her Presence doth astonish me,
And strikes me dumb, as if my Sense were gone.
Oh ! is not this a strange perplexity ?
In presence, dumb ! she hears not absent moan !
Thus absent, presence; present, absence maketh: O God ! what joy I felt when She did smile !
Whom killing grief before did cause to rage.
(Beauty is able Sorrow to beguile)
Out, traitor Absence ! thou dost hinder me !
And mak'st my Mistress often to forget,
Causing me to rail upon her cruelty,
Whilst thou my suit injuriously dost let !
Again, her Presence doth astonish me,
And strikes me dumb, as if my Sense were gone.
Oh ! is not this a strange perplexity ?
In presence, dumb ! she hears not absent moan !
That, hearing my poor suit, she it mistaketh !
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