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.