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 sorros 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 fying
eyes bring but disease:
And such am I, who
daily ending live,
Wailing a
state which can no comfort give.
--Lady Mary Wroth from Urania