|Here All Alone In Silence
by Lady Mary Wroth
Here all alone in silence might I mourne:
But how can silence be where sorrowes flow?
Sighs with complaints have poorer paines
But broken hearts can only true griefe
Drops of my dearest bloud shall let Love know
Such teares for her I shed, yet still do
As no spring can quench least part of my
Till this live earth, againe to earth doe
Hatefull all thought of comfort is to me,
Despised day, let me still night possesse;
Let me all torments feele in their excesse,
And but this light allow my state to see.
Which still doth wast, and wasting as this light,
Are my sad dayes unto eternall night.
Tintoretto. Santa Maria Maddalena.
Pinacoteca Capitolina, Rome.
Wroth, Lady Mary. The First Part of The Countess of
Josephine A. Roberts, ed. Binghampton, New York: Medieval &
Renaissance Texts & Studies, 1995. 2-3.
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