The Fifth Decade. Sonnet III. If ever Sorrow spoke from soul that loves

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

IF ever Sorrow spoke from soul that loves,

As speaks a spirit in a man possest;

In me, her spirit speaks. My soul it moves,

Whose sigh-swoll’n words breed whirlwinds in my breast:

Or like the echo of a passing bell,

Which sounding on the water, seems to howl;

So rings my heart a fearful heavy knell,

And keeps all night in consort with the owl.

My cheeks with a thin ice of tears are clad,

Mine eyes like morning stars are bleared and red:

What resteth then, but I be raging mad,

To see that She, my cares’ chief conduit-head,

When all streams else help quench my burning heart,

Shuts up her springs; and will no grace impart.