Her glare has winter's icy chill within
and has through heavy breath corrupted mist
now blown the soggy air in Cupid's sin
to bite mine lips and speak none to resist.

Forgive me nots succumb to frozen shards
by love's pall-bearers, marching out her womb
O' could the coffin with the heartless guards
return and free my love? That broke to gloom.

Ah! Could such grief be warmed with mournful eyes?
The same blue dyes, which now's a deep azure,
as she did play in older, springlike guise
but has it worth; to out her iced allure?

Before the hearted tomb expels all breath
I'll plead through that I know; or spring in death.