A Sonat

If I were to love you, you shouldn't watch-

If you wait, to look with breath abate,

You will not see, and shunt away IRATE

Look with your eyes alone, and alone you'll see my hate.

There it is, that my disposition's clothes swatch

Is dyed through your eyes, altering it- late.

With a posy on my head, is there worse a fate?

At every corner, with my good, still I botch.

If I love you, peculiar fortune:

You will get nothing but I and I.

Choose yourself blind and you will hear my tune:

Therein is my countenance, my July,

Therein is the heat of Sol at noon,

When you hear my anthem, there is June-