Sonnet XV

In truth, I did not think it pass as quick
As fate would make it so. It was profound
And shapèd thoughts that dealt with love born sick;
Why then time's haste to set it in the ground?
Perhaps it be to move from that which hurt,
As chancing love does often strike quick blows
To gambling hearts which sooner may revert
To wand'ring wastes, dead under newborn snows.
Or maybe then to wish them well to do
In unity where discord once was set.
Still yet, perchance, of chances to renew
Acquaintance where now sits this cold regret.
Alas it be of finding what may be
Or else teased truth where dimming eyes do see.