Grief find the words, for thou hast made my brain <br />So dark with misty vapors, which arise <br />From out thy heavy mold, that inbent eyes <br />Can scarce discern the shape of mine own pain. <br /> <br />Do thou then (for thou canst) do thou complain <br />For my poor soul, which now that sickness tries, <br />Which ev'n to sense, sense of itself denies, <br />Though harbingers of death lodge there his train. <br /> <br />Or if thy love of plaint yet mine forbears, <br />As of a caitiff worthy so to die, <br />Yet wail thyself, and wail with causeful tears, <br /> <br />That though in wretchedness thy life doth lie, <br />Yet growest more wretched than thy nature bears <br />By being plac'd in such a wretch as I.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-94-grief-find-the-words/
