Sonnet CCXCIV:
What hast thou done, my Darling, these two days?
Felt lost and lonesome, missed me from thy life?
Scorned self-content, with thy own self at strife,
Unable to incline to altered ways?
Loathed thou thy very merits? Is the praise
Men pay thy beauty, insult to thee, rife
With bold offense, as when a startled wife
Hears first the suit a daring stranger pays?
Oh thirst’st thou for our kisses? Are thy lips
Burning rose-red with greed to give and steal
Our long-day bliss, that not a moment skips?
Aches all thy body for me? Would’st thou seal
Love with libation till his altar drips?
Ah, then, in part, thou feelest what I feel.
