George Darley

Lenimina Laborum. 5. To Mie Tieante

Thou, att whose feete I waste mie soule in sighes,
Before whose beautie mie proude hearte is meeke,
Thou who make'st dove-like mie fierce falcon-cies,
And pale'st the rose of mie Lancastrian cheeke
With one colde smyle about this budded mouth:
Oh! that mie harmlesse vengeaunce I could wreake,
On that pale rival bloome of thine!—the South
Eaves not more fell, prisoned an Aprill weeke,
To feede on lilie-banks, than I to prey
Some greedie minutes on that blossome whyte.
Whose gentle ravage thou'dst too long delaie!—
when these Eoses of our cheekes unite,
Will't not a summer-happie season be
If not for Englande, in sweete soothe for me! 

Rogier de Derley, 1594.