The changing seasons are not more changefull
Then my mistresse; neither more vengefull
Is the wooing autumn wind that sedvceth
A singing mood afore it blasteth
With bitter colde, angry and disdainfull.
Her scorne is lyke a scorpion stinge painfull
In my sad heart wich bleedeth for banefull
Her who presently nowe observeth
          The changing seasons.
Her cruell scorne capricious entiseth
My heart to dispaire; itt dispaireth
Dailye and dieth from disese carefull.
Her scorne doth make my harte most woefull,
And so my smartyng heart despiseth
          The changing seasons.

"Sonnets From A Conversation With A Friend ***"


I seek not to mar the happiness known
By so many, nor lesson the glory of
Life's treasure, but human love is grown
In imperfect hearts, and is changefull love.
Our aims may be high, yet we often
Stumble and fall. Our thoughts do wander
Between forgiveness and anger. Confusion
Sometimes reigns, and with doubts we ponder
What we shall choose to do. The delicate rose
Blooms soft among the thorns, and love lives firmly
Rooted amid our frailties. To dispose
Of either's sting, also condemns their beauty.
So gladly let us tend that portion which is ours,
And leave to God the perfect love, which is Hers.

"Sonnets From A Conversation With A Friend ***"


I seek not to mar the happiness known
By so many, nor lesson the glory of
Life's treasure, but human love is grown
In imperfect hearts, and is changefull love.
Our aims may be high, yet we often
Stumble and fall. Our thoughts do wander
Between forgiveness and anger. Confusion
Sometimes reigns, and with doubts we ponder
What we shall choose to do. The delicate rose
Blooms soft among the thorns, and love lives firmly
Rooted amid our frailties. To dispose
Of either's sting, also condemns their beauty.
So gladly let us tend that portion which is ours,
And leave to God the perfect love, which is Hers.