Sonnet XII. Vext with th’assaults of thy conceivèd beauty

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

VEXT with th’assaults of thy conceivèd beauty,

I restless, on thy favours meditate!

And though despairful love, sometimes, my suit tie

Unto these faggots (figures of my state),

Which bound with endless line, by leisure wait

That happy moment of your heart’s reply!

Yet by those lines I hope to find the gate;

Which, through love’s labyrinth, shall guide me right.

Whiles (unacquainted exercise!) I try

Sweet solitude, I shun my life’s chief light!

And all because I would forget thee quite.

And (working that) methinks, it’s such a sin

(As I take pen and paper for to write)

Thee to forget; that leaving, I begin!