Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Busy old fool, unruly Sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?

She is all states, and all princes, I, Nothing else is.

And dare love that, and say so too, And forget the He and She.

As all the perfumes of the vanished day Rise from the earth still moistened with the dew So from my chastened soul beneath thy ray Old love is born anew.

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seve…

'Lying under this spell you cast on me/ Each moment/ The more I love you'