SONNET 58.
“Se as penas com que Amor tao mal me trata.”
Should Love, the tyrant of my suffering heart
Yet long enough protract his votary’s days
To see the lustre from those eyes depart,
The lode-stars[56] now that fascinate my gaze;
To see rude Time the living roses blight
That o’er thy cheek their loveliness unfold,
And, all unpitying, change thy tresses bright
To silvery whiteness, from their native gold;