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Description
What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my truelove is to me.
But cast not that shadow,
my second half;
Your skin upon which the showers do drop,
but mine upon which the bees do sting.

I for fair love do weep,
for but with only a doubt's shadow
shall I ever know the raindrop.

Yet, gods, more is thy bliss in this cruel age
A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth!
Among the Muses nine, a tenth if they would make
the pale shadow within my wake.

But nay, I do despair;
For all fair words and true hearts content,
I do fail and know no peace.
Despair is my lot and so I do, despair.

Description
What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my truelove is to me.
But cast not that shadow,
my second half;
Your skin upon which the showers do drop,
but mine upon which the bees do sting.

I for fair love do weep,
for but with only a doubt's shadow
shall I ever know the raindrop.

Yet, gods, more is thy bliss in this cruel age
A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth!
Among the Muses nine, a tenth if they would make
the pale shadow within my wake.

But nay, I do despair;
For all fair words and true hearts content,
I do fail and know no peace.
Despair is my lot and so I do, despair.