1 min read
Слушать(AI)SONNET I prethee turn that face away
I prethee turn that face away Whose splendour but benights my day.
Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts Shun the bright rayes which beauty darts.
Unwelcome is the Sun that pries Into those shades where sorrow lies.
Go shine on happy things.
To me That blessing is a miserie:
Whom thy fierce Sun not warmes, but burnes,
Like that the sooty Indian turnes.
Ile serve the night, and there confin'd Wish thee less fair, or else more kind.
Henry King
Henry King (1592 – 30 September 1669) was an English poet who served as Bishop of Chichester.
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
A Contemplation upon Flowers
VE flowers—that I could gallant it like you, And be as little vain You come abroad, and make a harmless show, And to your beds of earth again You are not proud: you know your birth: For your embroider'd garments are from earth...
PARADOX That Fruition destroyes Love
Love is our Reasons Paradox, which still Against the judgment doth maintain the Will: And governs by such arbitrary laws, It onely makes the Act our Likings cause: We have no brave revenge, but to forgo Our full desires, and starve ...
Madam Gabrina Or the Ill-favourd Choice
Con mala Muger el remedio Mucha Tierra por el medio I have oft wondred why thou didst elect Thy Mistress of a stuff none could affect, That wore his eyes in the right place A thing Made up, when Natures powers lay slumbering
To the same Lady upon Mr Burtons Melancholy
If in this Glass of Humours you do find The Passions or diseases of your mind, Here without pain, you safely may endure, Though not to suffer, yet to read your cure But if you nothing meet you can apply,
