By Lady Mary Wroth
hath no long journey
now to go,
While I a progress have in my desires;
Disasters dead-low-water-like do show
The sand, that overlooked my hoped-for hires.
Thus I remain like one that's laid in briars,
Where turning brings new pain and certain woe,
Like one, once burned, bids me avoid the fires,
But love, true fire, will not let me be slow.
Obedience, fear and love do all conspire
A worthless conquest gained to ruin me,
Who did but feel the height of blest desire
When danger, doubt and loss I straight did see.
Restless I live, consulting what to do,
And more I study, more I still undo.