Sonnet XLVII. Behold deare Mistres how each pleasant greene

Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

BEHOLD deare Mistres how each pleasant greene,

Will now renew his sommers liuerie:

The fragrant flowers which haue not long beene seene,

Will flourish now ere long in brauerie.

But I alas within whose mourning mind,

The grafts of griefe are onelie giuen to grow:

Cannot inioy the spring which others find,

But still my will must wither all in woe.

The lustie ver that whilome might exchange,

My griefe to ioy, and my delight increase:

Springs now else where and showes to me but strange,

My winters woe therefore can neuer cease.

In other coasts his sunne doth clearly shine,

And comfort lend to euery mould but mine.