A Sonnet of Sonnets
Come back to me, who wait and watch for you:
Or come not yet, for it is ver then.
And long it is before you come again,
so far between my pleasures are and few.
While, when you come not, what I do I do
thinking, "Now when he comes," my sweetest "when:"
For one man is my world of all the men
this wide world holds; O love, my world is you.
Howbeit, to meet you grows almost a pang
because the pang of parting comes so soon'
my hope hangs waning, waxing, like a moon
between the heavenly days on which we meet:
ah me, but where are now the songs I sang
when life was sweet because you called them sweet?