Sonnet XXVII. Fair eyes, whilst fearful I your fair admire

Thomas Lodge (1558–1625)

FAIR eyes, whilst fearful I your fair admire,

By unexpressèd sweetness that I gain,

My memory of sorrow doth expire,

And falcon-like I tower joy’s heavens amain,

But when your suns in oceans of their glory

Shut up their day-bright shine, I die for thought;

So pass my joys as doth a new-played story,

And one poor sigh breaths all delight to naught.

So to myself I live not, but for you;

For you I live, and you I love, but none else.

Oh then, fair eyes, whose light I live to view,

Or poor forlorn despised to live alone else,

Look sweet, since from the pith of contemplation

Love gathereth life, and living, breedeth passion.