by Lady Mary Wroth

Drown me not, you cruel tears,
Which in sorrow witness bears
     Of my wailing,
     And love's failing.

Floods but cover and retire,
Washing faces of desire,
     Whose fresh growing
     Springs by flowing.

Meadows ever yet did love
Pleasant streams which by them move,
     But your falling
     Claims the calling

Of a torrent curstly fierce
Past wit's power to rehearse;
     Only crying,
     Or my dying
May instead of verse or prose
My disastrous end disclose.
Wroth, Lady Mary. Poems. R. E. Pritchard, Ed.
Staffordshire, England: Keele University Press, 1996. 133.


to Lady Mary Wroth

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