Sonnet 100: Oh Tears, No Tears
Oh
tears,
no
tears,
but
rain
from
Beauty's
skies,
Making
those
lilies
and
those
roses
grow,
Which
aye
most
fair,
now
more
than
most
fair
show,
While
graceful
Pity
Beauty
beautifies.
Oh
honeyed
sighs,
which
from
that
breast
do
rise,
Whose
pants
do
make
unspilling
cream
to
flow,
Wing'd
with
whose
breath,
so
pleasing
zephyrs
blow
As
can
refresh
the
hell
where
my
soul
fries.
Oh
plaints
conserv'd
in
such
a
sugar'd
phrase
That
Eloquence
itself
envies
your
praise
While
sobb'd-out
words
a
perfect
music
give.
Such
tears,
sighs,
plaints,
no
sorrow
is
but
joy:
Or
if
such
heav'nly
signs
must
prove
annoy,
All
mirth
farewell,
let
me
in
sorrow
live.