Giles Fletcher the Elder (Джайлз Флетчер Старший)
Licia Sonnets 8
Hard are the rocks, the marble, and the steel, The ancient oak with wind and weather tossed; But you, my love, far harder do I feel Than flint, or these, or is the winter's frost. My tears too weak, your heart they cannot move; My sighs, that rock, like wind it cannot rent; Too tiger-like you swear you cannot love; But tears and sighs you fruitless back have sent. The frost too hard, not melted with my flame, I cinders am, and yet you feel no heat. Surpass not these, sweet love, for very shame, But let my tears, my vows, my sighs entreat; Then shall I say as I by trial find; These all are hard, but you, my love, are kind.
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