08.01.2011, 13:21
Sir David Murray
1567 - 1629
Gazing from out the windowes of mine eyes,
To view the object of my heats desire,
My famish'd lookes in wandring troupes forth flies,
Hoping by some good fortune to espie her;
But having flowne with staring wings long space,
And missing still the aime that caus'd them soare,
Scorning to feed on any other face,
Turnes to their cabins backe and flies no more,
And there enclos'd disdaines to view the light,
Shadowing my face with sable cloudes of griefe:
And thus I breath in cares continuall night,
Till that her sight afford me some reliefe.
Sweet, then make hast these cloudy cares to cleare
And glad those eyes that holds thy sight so deare.
1567 - 1629
Gazing from out the windowes of mine eyes,
To view the object of my heats desire,
My famish'd lookes in wandring troupes forth flies,
Hoping by some good fortune to espie her;
But having flowne with staring wings long space,
And missing still the aime that caus'd them soare,
Scorning to feed on any other face,
Turnes to their cabins backe and flies no more,
And there enclos'd disdaines to view the light,
Shadowing my face with sable cloudes of griefe:
And thus I breath in cares continuall night,
Till that her sight afford me some reliefe.
Sweet, then make hast these cloudy cares to cleare
And glad those eyes that holds thy sight so deare.