Sonnet VIII. Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

HARD are the rocks, the marble, and the steel,

The ancient oak with wind and weather tosst;

But you, my Love, far harder do I feel

Than flint, or these, or is the winter’s frost.

My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move;

My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent;

Too tiger-like, you swear you cannot love:

But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent.

The frost too hard, not melted with my flame;

I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat:

Surpass not these, sweet Love, for very shame!

But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat!

Then shall I say, as I by trial find,

These all are hard; but you, my Love, are kind.