In sorrow once again
My lady sits in sorrow once again.
I speak to her; she answers with a sigh
’Tis clear where fault here rests; indeed ’tis I
That, careless, thoughtless, caused my lady pain
And I should to myself now draw the blame.
In truth my fault doth make me sorrow feel,
And urges me to find some salve to heal
My lady’s woes! I begged; no answer came.
She now berates herself, my butterfly;
All I can do is swear, by stars above,
She loses not an atom of my love;
And yet she wounds herself with vicious lie,
As ever she is wont to do. ’Tis sure
Imagined ill can find no final cure.