Sonett-Forum

This careful head, with divers thoughts distressed,
My fancy's chronicler, my sorrow's muse;
These watchful eyes, whose heedless aim I curse,
Love's sentinels, and fountains of unrest;
This tongue still trembling, herald fit addressed
To my love's grief (than any torment worse);
This heart, true fortress of my spotless love,
And rageous furnace of my long desire:
Of these, by nature, am I not possessed,
Though nature their first means in me did move.
But thou, dear sweet, with thy love's holy fire,
My head grief's anvil made, with cares oppressed;
Mine eyes, a spring; my tongue, a leaf, wind-shaken;
My heart, a wasteful wilderness forsaken.