Verse > Anthologies > Elizabethan Sonnets > Delia
Seccombe and Arber, comps.  Elizabethan Sonnets.  1904.
Sonnet XLII. Read in my face, a volume of despairs!
Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)
READ in my face, a volume of despairs!
    The wailing Iliads of my tragic woe;
    Drawn with my blood, and printed with my cares,
    Wrought by her hand that I have honoured so.
Who, whilst I burn, she sings at my soul’s wrack,        5
    Looking aloft from turret of her pride:
    There, my Soul’s Tyrant ’joys her in the sack
    Of her own seat; whereof I made her guide.
There do these smokes, that from affliction rise,
    Serve as an incense to a cruel Dame.        10
    A sacrifice thrice-grateful to her eyes,
    Because their power serves to exact the same.
Thus ruins She, to satisfy her will,
The Temple, where her name was honoured still.

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