by William Alexander
No wonder though that this my blisse dismaies,
Whil'st rendred vp to neuer-pleas'd desires,
I burne, and yet must couer cursed fires,
Whose flame it selfe against my will bewrayes.
Some times my faire to launce my wound assayes,
And with th'occasion as it seemes conspires,
And indirectly oft my state inquires,
Which I would hide whil'st it it selfe betrayes.
If that a guiltie gesture did disclose
The hideous horrors that my soule contain'd,
Or wandring words deriu'd from inward woes,
Did tell my state, their treason I disdain'd:
And I could wish to be but as I am,
If that she knew how I conceale the same.
Last updated January 14, 2019