Sonnet 57 'How Deep the Stings That Make Men Mistrust Love'

How deep the stings that make men mistrust Love, And women fly from comforts that Love brings, And deeper is the poison in poisoned rings That longing hearts refuse the thinking of. There is no other station that can wound As deeply, or as surely, as Love stabs No other hook grabs deeply as Love grabs And no lute, more than Love, as finely tuned Can make my music sob, vibrate the strings Of all the lutes that ever were, will be With consonances. O! That I could Thee Awaken, to the joys that Sweet Love brings. But you would rather have than me, I think, Brown eyes, brown hair, a Handsome with a wink!