The ladder broken, 'tis in vain to climb.
But I must wish, and crave, and seek, and climb;
It's hard if I obtain not grace in time.


XXXV

I have not spent the April of my time,
The sweet of youth in plotting in the air,
But do at first adventure seek to climb,
Whilst flowers of blooming years are green and fair.
I am no leaving of all-withering age,
I have not suffered many winter lours;
I feel no storm unless my love do rage,
And then in grief I spend both days and hours.
This yet doth comfort that my flower lasted
Until it did approach my sun too near;
And then, alas, untimely was it blasted,
So soon as once thy beauty did appear!
But after all, my comfort rests in this,
That for thy sake my youth decayèd is.


XXXVI

O let my heart, my body, and my tongue
Bleed forth the lively streams of faith unfeigned,
Worship my saint the gods and saints among,
Praise and extol her fair that me hath pained!
O let the smoke of my suppressed desire,