Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
DianaThe Sixth Decade. Sonnet VIII. Unhappy day! unhappy month and season!
Henry Constable (1562–1613)U
When first proud love, my joys away adjourning,
Poured into mine eye (to her eye turning)
A deadly juice, unto my green thoughts geason.
Prisoner I am unto the eye I gaze on:
Eternally my love’s flame is in burning:
A mortal shaft still wounds me in my mourning:
Thus prisoned, burnt, and slain; the spirit, soul, and reason;
What tides me then, since these pains which annoy me,
In my despair, are evermore increasing?
The more I love, less is my pain’s releasing;
That cursèd be the fortune which destroys me,
The hour, the month, the season, and the cause;
When love first made me thrall to lovers’ laws.