As an imperfect actor on the stage,
with his fear is put besides his part,
or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
so I,
the fear of trust, forget to say
the perfect ceremony of love's right,
and in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O,
a-charged with birthing of mine own love's might!
O,
let my books be then the eloquence and
dumb presagers of my speaking breast,
who plead for love and look for recompense
more than that tongue that more hath more
expressed.
O, learn to read what silent love hath writ,
to hear what eyes belongs to love's
fine wit!
As an imperfect actor on the stage,
with his fear is put besides his part,
or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
so I, the fear of trust,
forget to say
the perfect ceremony of love's right,
and in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O,
a-charged with birthing of mine own love's might!
As an imperfect actor on the stage,
with his fear is put besides his part,
or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
so I, the fear of trust,
forget to say the perfect ceremony of love's right,
and in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O,
a-charged with birthing of mine own love's might!
As an imperfect actor on the stage,
with his fear is put besides his part,
or some fierce thing replete
with too much rage,
whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart,
so I, the fear of trust,
forget to say the perfect ceremony of love's right,
and in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
O, a-charged with birthing of mine own
love's might!
Let my books be then the eloquence,
and don't press the jaws of my speaking breath,
who
plead for love,
and look for recompense,
more than a tongue that more hath more expressed.
To read
what silent love hath with,
to hear
with eyes belongs to love's silent width.
O, come
to read what silent love hath with,
to hear with eyes belongs to love's silent width.