Sonnet LIX. Ah me! sweet beauty lost, returns no more

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

AH me! sweet beauty lost, returns no more.

And how I fear mine heart fraught with disdain!

Despair of her disdain, casts doubt before;

And makes me thus of mine heart’s hope complain.

Ah, me! nor mine heart’s hope, nor help. Despair!

Avoid my Fancy! Fancy’s utter bane!

My woes’ chief worker! Cause of all my care!

Avoid my thoughts! that Hope may me restore

To mine heart’s heaven, and happiness again!

Ah, wilt thou not? but still depress my thought!

Ah, Mistress! if thy beauty, this hath wrought,

That proud disdainfulness shall in thee reign:

Yet, think! when in thy forehead wrinkles be;

Men will disdain thee, then, as thou dost me!