Mary Wroth Poems

Sweetest Love returne againe,
Make not too long stay;
Killing mirth and forcing paine;
Sorrow leading way:
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Take heed mine eyes, how you your looks doe cast,
Lest they betray my hearts most secret thought:
Be true unto your selves; for nothing's bought
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In this strange Labyrinth how shall I turne,
Wayes are on all sides while the way I misse:
If to the right hand, there, in love I burne,
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Come darkest Night, becomming sorrow best,
Light leave thy light, fit for a lightsome soule:
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All Night I weepe, all Day I cry, Ay me,
I still doe wish, though yet deny, ay me;
I sigh, I mourne, I say that still,
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Like to the Indians scorched with the Sunne,
The Sunne which they doe as their God adore:
So am I us'd by Love, for evermore
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Once did I heare an aged father say
Unto his sonne, who with attention heares
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When every one to pleasing pastime hies
Some hunt, some hawke, some play, while some delight
In sweet discourse, and musicke shewes joys might:
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Poore eyes bee blinde, the light behold noe more,
Since that is gon which is your deare delight:
Ravish'd from you by greater powre, and might,
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My Muse now happy lay thy selfe to rest,
Sleepe in the quiet of a faithfull love,
Write you no more, but let these Phant'sies mooue
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