Sonnet CLXXV
SONNET CLXXV.
Non dall' Ispano Ibero all' Indo Idaspe.
HIS WOES ARE UNEXAMPLED.
From Spanish Ebro to Hydaspes old,Exploring ocean in its every nook,[Pg 191]From the Red Sea to the cold Caspian shore,In earth, in heaven one only Phœnix dwells.What fortunate, or what disastrous birdOmen'd my fate? which Parca winds my yarn,That I alone find Pity deaf as asp,And wretched live who happy hoped to be?Let me not speak of her, but him her guide,Who all her heart with love and sweetness fills—Gifts which, from him o'erflowing, follow her,Who, that my sweets may sour and cruel be,Dissembleth, careth not, or will not seeThat silver'd, ere my time, these temples are.
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