Sms Poems

Let fair or foul my mistress be,
Or low, or tall, she pleaseth me;
Or let her walk, or stand, or sit,
The posture her's, I'm pleased with it;
Or let her tongue be still, or stir
Graceful is every thing from her;
Or let her grant, or else deny,
My love will fit each history.

Thou bidst me come away,
And I'll no longer stay,
Than for to shed some tears
For faults of former years;
And to repent some crimes
Done in the present times;
And next, to take a bit
Of bread, and wine with it;
To don my robes of love,
Fit for the place above;
To gird my loins about
With charity throughout;
And so to travel hence
With feet of innocence;
These done, I'll only cry,
'God, mercy!' and so die.

Love, like a beggar, came to me
With hose and doublet torn,
His shirt bedangled from his knee,
With hat and shoes outworn.

He ask'd an alms; I gave him bread,
And meat too, for his need;
Of which, when he had fully fed,
He wished me all good speed.

Away he went; but as he turn'd,
In faith I know not how,
He toucht me so, as that I burn,
And am tormented now.

Love's silent flames, and fires obscure,
The crept into my heart;
And though I saw no bow, I'm sure
His finger was the dart.

How Love came in, I do not know,
Whether by th'eye, or ear, or no;
Or whether with the soul it came,
At first, infused with the same;
Whether in part 'tis here or there,
Or, like the soul, whole every where.
This troubles me; but I as well
As any other, this can tell;
That when from hence she does depart,
The outlet then is from the heart.