But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.

Methought I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave.

[Rhyme is] but the invention of a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame Meter; ... Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets…

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son

But then to wake and find it flown, The dream of happiness destroyed, To find myself unloved, alone, What tongue can speak the dreary void? A heart whence warm…

Absence from whom we love is worse than death, And frustrate hope severer than despair.

In the first days Of my distracting grief, I found myself As women wish to be who love their lords.