Sonnet 132. Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me

Thine eyes I love, and they as pitying me

Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain

Have put on black, and loving mourners be

Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain.

And truly not the morning sun of heaven

Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east

Nor that full star that ushers in the even

Doth half that glory to the sober west