Sonett-Forum

In vain I haunt the cold and silver springs,
To quench the fever burning in my veins;
In vain, love's pilgrim, mountains, dales, and plains,
I overrun; vain help long absence brings:
In vain, my friends, your counsel me constrains
To fly, and place my thoughts on other things.
Ah! like the bird that fired hath her wings,
The more I move, the greater are my pains.
Desire, alas! Desire, a Zeuxis new,
From Indies borrowing gold, from western skies
Most bright cynoper, sets before mine eyes
In every place, her hair, sweet look, and hue:
That fly, run, rest I, all doth prove but vain,
My life lies in those looks which have me slain.