Sonnet XI

In setting up the question that bears death
I saw no fault in ways that walked to ask.
But cities fall and man turns to the breath
From whence it came. All ends with this small task.
With these black eyes I see the one who'd win
Her holy hand, with crimson bonds approved.
If union serve their choir be, mine din.
If gold they be, this rust must be removed.
All those in last walk on; if fourth or third
Or closer still, as if in second-place,
Words writ will fall in vain; they'll not be heard;
Now gone from suitor's eyes her wand'ring grace.
I once had faith and hope, the loves of man;
Though now this failure ends 'fore it began.