Sonnet 3

Curse sweet sorrowful dew that brims my eyes
Retract humble kiss from my mourning heart
Perceive no more forward that turns and dies
Take upon your hand which is pleasures part
Illuminate desire from tossing spite
Scoff not at what occurred in consequence
Possess thought when happiness reaches height
Be it your reflection and countenance
He has flown by that black shrouded figure
Remove from your perception lingering hate
But fill not with envy but lasting vigor
Forever lock that rusted grieving gate
Transform oh tears into pleasure seeking
Search no more for that scythe that comes reaping!