Sonnet XX

As always, now I fall to wistful thought:
Love that was found once in a quickened haze,
Or feelings sent of love that was distraught,
Or my affects not caught by hazel gaze.
I sought to gain what I had never had,
Be it the grace of beauty in her strides
Or flush of mind in secret glamour clad
Or poetry she writes, but then she hides.
Oh I have cried no tears for these three deaths
Of likely bonds that I may never hold!
They do not cry for me beneath their breaths
For they have found their loves in better gold.
If they be silver, I present my rust
So I may fade 'gainst other lovers' lust.