By Lady Mary Wroth
Forbear dark night, my joys now bud again,
Lately grown dead, while cold aspects, did chill
The root at heart, and my chief hope quite kill,
And thunders struck me in my pleasures wain.
Then I alas with bitter sobs, and pain,
Privately groan'd, my fortunes present ill;
All light of comfort dimmed, woes in prides fill,
With strange increase of grief, I grieved in vain.
And most, when as a memory to good
Molested me, which still as witness stood,
of those best days, in former time I knew;
Late gone as wonders past, like the great snow,
Melted and wasted, with what, change must know;
Now back the life comes where as once it grew