regretful thought.

All that was sweet and gay Is now a pain to see; The sunniness of day Is
black as night to me; All that was my delight Is hidden from my sight.

My heart and eye, indeed, One face, one image know, The which this
mournful weed On my sad face doth show, Dyed with the violet's tone That
is the lover's own.

Tormented by my ill, I go from place to place, But wander as I will My
woes can nought efface; My most of bad and good I find in solitude.

But wheresoe'er I stay, In meadow or in copse, Whether at break of day Or
when the twilight drops, My heart goes sighing on, Desiring one that's
gone.

If sometimes to the skies My weary gaze I lift, His gently shining eyes
Look from the cloudy drift, Or stooping o'er the wave I see him in the
grave.

Or when my bed I seek, And-sleep begins to steal, Again I hear him speak,
Again his touch I feel; In work or leisure, he Is ever near to me.

No other thing I see, However fair displayed, By which my heart will be A
tributary made, Not having the perfection Of that, my lost affection.

Here make an end, my verse, Of this thy sad lament, Whose burden shall
rehearse Pure love of true intent, Which separation's stress Will never
render less."