Barnabe Barnes

(1571 - 1609)

Sonnet LXXXIX

What be those hairs dyed like the marigold ?
ECHO, Gold !
What is that brow, whose frown make any moan
ECHO, Anemone !
What were her eyes, when the great lords controlled ?
ECHO, Rolled !
What be they, when from them be loves thrown ?
ECHO, LOVE's throne !
What were her cheeks (when blushes rose) like

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