Sonnet 11: Unquiet Grief by Mary Wroth

Unquiet grief search farther in my heart
If place be found which thou hast not possessed,
Or so much space can build hope’s smallest nest,
Take it from me, I am the lodge of smart,

Despair, despair hath used the skilfullest art
To ruin hope, and murder easeful rest,
O me, despair my vine of hope hath pressed,
Ravished the grapes, the leaves left for my part.

Yet ruler grief, nor thou despair deny
This last request, proclaim twas not suspect*
Grafted this bud of sorrow in my breast,

But knowledge daily doth my loss descry,
Cold love’s now masked with care, change with respect,
When true flames lived these false fires were suppressed.

From: http://wroth.latrobe.edu.au/all-poems.html

Date: 1621

By: Mary Wroth (1587-1651)