17.01.2011, 18:32
THINE eyes taught me the alphabet of Love,
To con my cross-row ere I learned to spell
(For I was apt, a scholar like to prove),
Gave me sweet looks when-as I learned well.
Vows were my vowels, when I then begun
At my first lesson in thy sacred name ;
My consonants, the next when I had done,
Words consonant and sounding to thy fame ;
My liquids then were liquid crystal tears,
My cares my mutes, so mute to crave relief ;
My doleful diphthongs were my life's despairs,
Redoubling sighs, the accents of my grief.
My love's school-mistress now hath taught me so,
That I can read a story of my woe.
To con my cross-row ere I learned to spell
(For I was apt, a scholar like to prove),
Gave me sweet looks when-as I learned well.
Vows were my vowels, when I then begun
At my first lesson in thy sacred name ;
My consonants, the next when I had done,
Words consonant and sounding to thy fame ;
My liquids then were liquid crystal tears,
My cares my mutes, so mute to crave relief ;
My doleful diphthongs were my life's despairs,
Redoubling sighs, the accents of my grief.
My love's school-mistress now hath taught me so,
That I can read a story of my woe.