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Come Time, the anchor-hold of my desire,
My last resort whereto my hopes appeal,
Cause once the date of her disdain t'expire;
Make her the sentence of her wrath repeal.
Rob her fair Brow, break in on Beauty, steal
Power from those eyes, which pity cannot spare;
Deal with those dainty cheeks as she doth deal
With this poor heart consumed with despair;
This heart made now the prospective of care,
By loving her, the cruelst Fair that lives,
The cruelst Fair that sees I pine for her,
And never mercy to my merit gives.
Let her not still triumph over the prize
Of mine affections taken by her eyes.
Samuel Daniel
Read poems about / on: despair, power, beauty, heart, time, sonnet, hope
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