Sonnet.
I prithee turn that face away
Whose splendour but benights my day.
Sad eyes like mine, and wounded hearts
Shun the bright rays which beauty darts.
Unwelcome is the Sun that pries
Into those shades where sorrow lies.
Go, shine on happy things. To me
That blessing is a misery:
Whom thy fierce Sun not warms, but burns,