Diana: Fifth Decade, Sonnet 6

I am no model figure, or sign of care,
But his eternal heart's-consuming essence,
In whom grief's commentaries written are,
Drawing gross passion into pure quintessence,
Not thine eye's fire, but fire of thine eye's disdain,
Fed by neglect of my continual grieving,
Attracts the true life's spirit of my pain,
And gives it thee, which gives me no relieving.
Within thine arms sad elegies I sing;
Unto thine eyes a true heart love-torn lay I:
Thou smell'st from me the savours sorrows bring;
My tears to taste my truth to touch display I.
Lo thus each sense, dear fair one, I importune;
But being care, thou flyest me as ill fortune.