Mary Wroth Poems

You blessed Starres, which doe Heaven's glory show,
And at your brightnesse make our eyes admire:
Yet envy not, though I on earth below,
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If ever love had force in humane brest,
If ever he could move in pensive heart:
Or if that he such powre could but impart
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Sorrow, I yeeld, and grieve that I did misse;
Will not thy rage be satified with this?
As sad a Divell as thee,
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Can pleasing sight, misfortune ever bring?
Can firme desire a painefull torment trye?
Can winning eyes prove to the heart a sting?
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O dearest eyes, the lights, and guides of Love,
The joyes of Cupid, who himselfe borne blinde,
To your bright shining, doth his tryumphs binde;
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How fast thou hast'st O Spring with sweetest speede
To catch thy waters which before are runne,
And of the greater Rivers welcome woone,
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Good now be still, and doe not me torment,
With multituds of questions, be at rest,
And onely let me quarrell with my breast,
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Love thou hast all, for now thou hast me made
So thine, as if for thee I were ordain'd,
Then take thy conquest, nor let me be pain'd
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O stay mine eyes shed not these fruitlesse teares,
Since hope is past to win you back againe,
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How like a fire doth love increase in me!
The longer that it lasts the stronger still;
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