Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Parthenophil and ParthenopheSonnet LXIX. The leafless branches of the lifeless boughs
Barnabe Barnes (1569?1609)T
Carve Winter’s outrage in their withered barks:
The withered wrinkles in my careful brows,
Figure from whence they drew those crooked marks!
Down from the Thracian mountains, oaks of might
And lofty firs, into the valley fall:
Sure sign where B
And that, long there, no Sylvans dally shall.
Fields, with prodigious inundations drowned;
For N
My looks and Passions likewise shew my wound;
And how some fair regard did strike it deep.
These branches, blasted trees, and fields so wat’red;
For wrinkles, sighs, and tears, foreshew thine hatred!