Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb, 
   Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand, 
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web, 
   And snared by the ungloving of thine hand. 
And yet I never look on midnight sky, 
   But I behold thine eyes' well memory'd light; 
I cannot look upon the rose's dye, 
   But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight. 
I cannot look on any budding flower, 
   But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips 
And hearkening for a love-sound, doth devour 
   Its sweets in the wrong sense:---Thou dost eclipse 
Every delight with sweet remembering, 
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.