XVIII. My Laura wonders that, in visage pale

Robert Tofte (1561–1620)

MY LAURA wonders that, in visage pale,

I bear of Death itself, the lively show:

But if She muse at this, her musing ’s stale;

For this sad colour had I long ago.

The fire, close burning in my veins, doth make

That outward ashes in my face you view:

But if that She would on me pity take,

Who is the cause of this my palish hue,

This kindled heat shall die, which now doth burn;

And my first colour shall again return.