The Sixth Decade. Sonnet V. Weary of love, my Thoughts of Love complained

Henry Constable (1562–1613)

WEARY of love, my THOUGHTS of Love complained,

Till REASON told them, there was no such power;

And bade me view fair beauty’s richest flower,

To see if there a naked boy remained.

Dear! to thine eyes, eyes that my soul hath pained,

THOUGHTS turned them back, in that unhappy hour,

To see if Love kept there his royal bower:

For if not there, then no place him contained.

There was he not, nor boy, nor golden bow;

Yet as thou turned thy chaste fair eye aside,

A flame of fire did from thine eyelids go,

Which burnt my heart, through my sore wounded side:

Then with a sigh, REASON made THOUGHTS to cry,

“There is no god of love, save that thine eye!”