Sonnet XCIX. This careful head, with divers thoughts distressed

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

THIS careful head, with divers thoughts distressed,

My Fancy’s Chronicler! my Sorrow’s Muse!

These watchful eyes, whose heedless aim I curse,

Love’s Sentinels! and Fountains of Unrest!

This tongue still trembling, Herald fit addressed

To my Love’s grief! (than any torment worse!)

This heart, true Fortress of my spotless love,

And rageous Furnace of my long desire!

Of these, by Nature, am I not possessed

(Though Nature, their first means in me did move)

But thou, dear Sweet! with thy love’s holy fire,

My head, Grief’s Anvil made! with cares oppressed;

Mine eyes, a Spring! my tongue, a Leaf wind-shaken!

My heart, a wasteful Wilderness forsaken!