Page:Elizabethan sonnet-cycles.djvu/94



not, sweet love, the wings of my desire,

Although it soar aloft and mount too high:

But rather bear with me though I aspire,

For I have wings to bear me to the sky.

What though I mount, there is no sun but thee!

And sith no other sun, why should I fear?

Thou wilt not burn me, though thou terrify,

And though thy brightness do so great appear.

Dear, I seek not to batter down thy glory,

Nor do I envy that thy hope increaseth;

O never think thy fame doth make me sorry!

For thou must live by fame when beauty ceaseth.

Besides, since from one root we both did spring,

Why should not I thy fame and beauty sing?