Sonnet XXVI. I live, sweet Love, where as the gentle wind

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

I LIVE, sweet Love, where as the gentle wind

Murmurs with sport, in midst of thickest boughs;

Where loving woodbine doth the harbour bind,

And chirping birds do echo forth my vows;

Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine,

And sweetest flowers enamelled have the ground;

Where Muses dwell: and yet hereat repine

That on the earth so rare a place was found.

But winds delight: I wish to be content.

I praise the woodbine: but I take no joy.

I moan the birds that music thus have spent.

As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy.

Live thou, fair LICIA, in this place alone:

Then shall I joy, though all of these were gone.