Sonnet XIII

Methinks mine heart could melt for the coy maid,
Who remains hidden away from mine eyes.
For once she was a heart-thief in the glade,
A nymph who enthralled men without disguise.

Her dulcet song was heaven to mine ears.
The crown upon her head was Saturn’s belt.
She strummed aloud the music of the spheres.
Enlivening affections which were felt.

“All good things must come to an end”, they say.
In spite of this I keep her memory
Within this poem to be read day by day,
Perhaps, remaining to eternity.

O, that God would grant me this one prayer,
To bid her love of which none can compare.