My thoughts are winged with hopes, my hopes with love.
Mount, Love, unto the moon in clearest night
And say, as she doth in the heavens move,
In earth, so wanes and waxeth my delight.
And whisper this but softly in her ears:
Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears.
And you, my thoughts, that some mistrust do carry,
If for mistrust my mistress do you blame,
Say though you alter, yet you do not vary,
As she doth change and yet remain the same.
Distrust doth enter hearts but not infect,
And love is sweetest seasoned with suspect.
If she for this with clouds do mask her eyes,
And make the heavens dark with her disdain,
With windy sighs disperse them in the skies,
Or with thy tears dissolve them into rain,
Thoughts, hopes and love, return to me no more
Till Cynthia shine as she hath done before.
attributed to George Clifford, 3rd Earl of Cumberland (1558-1605)
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