Delia: Sonnet 29

THE starre of my mishap imposd this paine,
To spend the Aprill of my yeeres in wayling,
That euer found my fortune in the wayne,
With still fresh cares my present woes assayling.
Yet her I blame not, though for her tis done,
But my desires wings so high aspyring,
Which now are melted by that glorious Sunne,
That makes in fall from off my hie desiring.
And in my fall, I cry for helpe with speed.
No pittying eye lookes backe vpon my mourning,
No succour finde I now when most I need,
Th' Ocean of my teares must drowne me burning.
Whilst my distress shall christen her a new,
And giue the Cruell Fayre this title due.