Sonnet XXVII. Why do I draw this cool relieving air

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

WHY do I draw this cool relieving air,

And breathe it out in scalding sighs, as fast?

Since all my hopes die buried in despair;

In which hard soil, mine endless knots be cast.

Where, when I come to walk, be sundry Mazes

With Beauty’s skilful finger linèd out;

And knots, whose borders set with double daisies,

Doubles my dazed Muse with endless doubt.

How to find easy passage through the time,

With which my Mazes are so long beset,

That I can never pass, but fall and climb

According to my Passions (which forget

The place, where they with Love’s Guide should have met):

But when, faint-wearied, all (methinks) is past;

The Maze returning, makes me turn as fast.