20.10.2011, 17:12
Anne Cecil de Vere
1556 - 1588
In dolefull wayes I spend the wealth of my time:
Feeding on my heart, that ever comes agen.
Since the ordinaunce, of the Destin's, hath ben,
To end of the Saissons, of my yeeres the prime
With my Sonne, my Gold, my Nightingale, and Rose,
Is gone: for t'twas in him and no other where:
And well though mine eies run downe like fountaines here
The stone wil not speak yet, that doth it inclose.
And Destins, and Gods, you might rather have tanne,
My twentie yeeres: then the two daies of my sonne.
And of this world what shall I hope, since I knoe,
That in his respect, it can yeeld but mosse:
Or what should I consume any more in woe,
When Destins, Gods, and worlds, are all in my losse.
1556 - 1588
In dolefull wayes I spend the wealth of my time:
Feeding on my heart, that ever comes agen.
Since the ordinaunce, of the Destin's, hath ben,
To end of the Saissons, of my yeeres the prime
With my Sonne, my Gold, my Nightingale, and Rose,
Is gone: for t'twas in him and no other where:
And well though mine eies run downe like fountaines here
The stone wil not speak yet, that doth it inclose.
And Destins, and Gods, you might rather have tanne,
My twentie yeeres: then the two daies of my sonne.
And of this world what shall I hope, since I knoe,
That in his respect, it can yeeld but mosse:
Or what should I consume any more in woe,
When Destins, Gods, and worlds, are all in my losse.