Sestine 3. You loathed fields and forests

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

YOU loathed fields and forests,

Infected with my vain sighs!

You stony rocks, and deaf hills,

With my complaints, to speak taught!

You sandy shores, with my tears,

Which learn to wash your dry face!

Behold, and learn in my face,

The state of blasted forests!

If you would learn to shed tears,

Or melt away with oft sighs;

You shall, of me, be this taught,

As I sit under these hills,

Beating mine arms on these hills,

Laid grovelling on my lean face!

My sheep, of me to bleat taught;

And to wander through the forests!

The sudden winds learn my sighs!

AURORA’s flowers, my tears!

But She that should see my tears,

Swift scuddeth by the high hills,

And sees me spent with long sighs,

And views my blubbered lean face;

Yet leaves me to the forests,

Whose solitary paths taught

My woes, all comforts untaught.

These sorrows, sighs, and salt tears

Fit solitary forests!

These outcries meet for deaf hills!

These tears, best fitting this face!

This air, most meet for these sighs!

Consume! consume, with these sighs!

Such sorrows, they to die taught!

Which printed are in thy face,

Whose furrows made with much tears!

You stony rocks! and high hills!

You sandy shores! and forests!

Report my seas of salt tears!

You! whom I nothing else taught,

But groanings! tears! and sad sighs!