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!
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