William Drummond of Hawthornden (1585–1649)

THOU window, once which servèd for a sphere

To that dear planet of my heart, whose light

Made often blush the glorious queen of night,

While she in thee more beauteous did appear,

What mourning weeds, alas! now dost thou wear?

How loathsome to mine eyes is thy sad sight?

How poorly look’st thou, with what heavy cheer,

Since that sun set, which made thee shine so bright?

Unhappy now thee close, for as of late

To wond’ring eyes thou wast a paradise,

Bereft of her who made thee fortunate,

A gulf thou art, whence clouds of sighs arise;

But unto none so noisome as to me,

Who hourly see my murdered joys in thee.