I grieve, and dare not show my discontent;
I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate:
I am, and not, I freeze, and yet am burn’d,
Since from myself my other self I turn’d.
My care is like my shadow in the sun—
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it;
Stands and lies by me, does what I have done,
This too-familiar care does make me rue it.