Sonnet Iv: These Plaintive Verses

These plaintive verses, the Posts of my desire, Which haste for succour to her slow regard: Bear not report of any slender fire, Forging a grief to win a fame's reward. Nor are my passions limn'd for outward hue, For that no colors can depaint my sorrows; Delia herself and all the world may view Best in my face, how cares hath till'd deep forrows. No Bays I seek to deck my mourning brow, O clear-eyed Rector of the holy Hill; My humble accents crave the Olive bough, Of her mild pity and relenting will. These lines I use t'unburden mine own heart; My love affects no fame nor 'steems of art.