Sonnet CXLVII:
I but half uttered what I purposed, dear:
I should have said that if divided grief
Give to thy heart one symptom of relief,
Then dry thy lids, and be of better cheer!
My eyes are partners in thy smallest tear;
Thou’st never breathed a sigh so light or brief
That did not flutter every spray and leaf
Within the whispering laurels at my heart.
If what I bear by so much lightens thee,
I’ll bless my grief, and patiently incline
My yoke-worn neck to all which thou’lt resign.
Alas! I speak in bitter levity;
Dividing sorrow will not lighten thine,
But only cast another weight on me.
