Shall e’er mine eye be held unto thy sway.
Yet trippingly, and gaily in thy sight
I will not fade, lest night shall trump our day.
For never shall I speak or do thee ill
Or tremble at that pilgrim’s noble deeds
Who, knowing thee and ever wrought in skill,
Doth move to manners and your faith exceeds.
For aught shall pass and aught shall favour more
Than to a pilgrim’s lips when he doth hate.
And hard yet though he labour to abhor
His heart shall ever cleave unto this state.
Make thee another self for love of me,
So too shall e’er mine strength give heart to me.
The Dark Lady
This is a fine sonnet, tantalisingly obscure in parts but stylish withal, and redolent of tender yet hard-edged longing.