Sonnet No. Three Louise Labe
T Tom Billsborough
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Oh, deep desires, O hopes I hold in vain
Such wishes and such customary tears
Bring forth from me so many flowing rivers
Of which my eyes are sources and the fountain.
Oh cruelty, Oh unrelenting harshness
With pitying looks from those celestial spheres
To the chilled heart when passion reappears.
Do you think to grow my painfulness?
For yet again will Love draw out his bow
And loose upon me renewing fiery darts
That anger makes him do the worst of things.
For I am so distressed in all my parts
That one more wound would not increase my sorrow
No other place in me is there for further stings.
Bu şiiri puanla
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