by Lady Mary Wroth
Unseen, unknown, I here alone complain
To rocks, to hills, to meadows, and to springs,
Which can no help return to ease my pain,
But back my sorrows the sad Echo brings.
Thus still increasing are my woes to me,
Doubly resounded by that moanful voice,
Which seems to second me in misery,
And answer gives like friend of mine own choice.
Thus only she doth my companion prove,
The others silently do offer ease.
But those that grieve, a grieving note do love;
Pleasures to dying eyes bring but disease:
And such am I, who daily ending live,
Wailing a state which can no comfort give.
Echo and Narcissus by Nicolas
(1594-1665). From CGFA.
The Norton Anthology of English Literature, 6th ed., v.1.
New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 1993. 1688.
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