Sometimes the sky’s too bright,
Or has too many clouds or birds,
And far away’s too sharp a sun
To nourish thinking of him.
Why is my hand too blunt
To cut in front of me
My horrid images for me,
Of over-fruitful smiles,
The weightless touching of the lip
I wish to know
I cannot lift, but can,
The creature with the angel’s face
Who tells me hurt,
And sees my body go
Down into misery?
No stopping. Put the smile
Where tears have come to dry.
The angel’s hurt is left;
His telling burns.

Sometimes a woman’s heart has salt,
Or too much blood;
I tear her breast,
And see the blood is mine,
Flowing from her but mine,
And then I think
Perhaps the sky’s too bright;
And watch my hand,
But do not follow it,
And feel the pain it gives,
But do not ache.

Still do the Stars impart their Light
To those that travell in the Night;
Still Time runs on, nor doth the Hand
Or Shadow on the Diall stand;
The Streames still glide and constant are:
Only thy Mind
Untrue I find,
Which carelessly
Neglects to be
Like Stream, or Shadow, Hand, or Star.

Fool that I am; I do recall
My words, and swear thou'rt like them all:
Thou seemst like Stars to nourish fire,
But O how cold is thy desire?
And like the Hand upon the Brass,
Thou point'st at me
In mockery,
If I come nigh,
Shade-like thou'lt fly,
And as the Stream with Murmur pass.

Thrice didst thou vow, thrice didst thou swear,
Whisp'ring those Oaths into mine Eare,
And t'ween each one, as Seal of Bliss,
Didst interpose a sweeter kiss:
Alas that also came from Art,
For it did smell
So fresh and wel,
That I presume
'Twas thy Perfume
That made thee swear, and not thy Heart.

Tell me who taught thy subtile Eyes
To cheat true hearts with fallacies?
Who did instruct thy Sighs to Lie?
Who taught thy kisses Sophistry?
Believe't 'tis far from honest Rigour;
O how I loath
A tutor'd Oath!
I'll ne'r come nigh
A learned Sigh,
Nor credit Vows in Mood and Figure.

'Twas Venus to me whisper'd this,
Swear and embrace, protest and kiss,
Such Oaths and Vows are fickle things,
My wanton Son does lend them wings:
The kiss must stay, the Oath must fly:
Heav'n is the Schoole
That gives this Rule:
I cann't prove true
To that and you,
The Goddess is in fault, not I.

Who for any wrong would thus much do,
For my Revenge may something too;
She, O She make thee true to all,
Marry an Army, and then fall
Through scornfull Hatred and disdain:
But mayst thou be
Still false to me;
For if thy mind
Once more prove kind
Thou'lt swear thine Oathes all o'r again.