Sonett-Forum

I curse the night, yet do from day me hide,
The Pandionian birds I tire with moans,
The echoes even are wearied with my groans,
Since absence did me from my bliss divide.
Each dream, each toy my reason doth affright;
And when remembrance reads the curious scroll
Of pass'd contentments caused by her sight,
Then bitter anguish doth invade my soul.
While thus I live eclipsed of her light,
O me! what better am I than the mole,
Or those whose zenith is the only pole,
Whose hemisphere is hid with so long night?
Save that in earth he rests, they hope for sun,
I pine, and find mine endless night begun.