Fair tree, but fruitless! sometimes full of sap!

Which now yields nought at all, that may delight me!

Some cruel frost, or some untimely hap

Hath made thee barren, only to despite me!

Such trees, in vain, with hope do feed Desire;

And serve for fuel to increase Love's fire.

LIII.

In company (whiles sad and mute I sit,

My thoughts elsewhere, than there I seem to be)

Possessed with some deep melancholy fit;