Sonnet XXII. If this be love, to draw a weary breath

Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)

IF this be love, to draw a weary breath,

To paint on floods till the shore cry to the air;

With prone aspect still treading on the earth.

Sad horror! pale grief! prostrate despair!

If this be love, to war against my soul,

Rise up to wail, lie down to sigh, to grieve me,

With ceaseless toil CARE’s restless stones to roll,

Still to complain and moan, whilst none relieve me.

If this be love, to languish in such care

Loathing the light, the world, myself and all,

With interrupted sleeps, fresh griefs repair;

And breathe out horror in perplexed thrall.

If this be love, to live a living death:

Lo then love I, and draw this weary breath.