Delia: Sonnet 9

IF thys be loue, to draw a weary breath,
Paint on floods, till the shore cry to th'ayre:
With downward lookes, still reading on the earth;
The sad memorials of my loues despayre.
If this be loue, to warre against my soule,
Lye downe to waile, rise vp to sigh and grieue,
The neuer-resting stone of care to roule,
Still to cōplaine my griefes, whilst none relieue.
If this be loue, to cloathe me with darke thoughts,
Haunting vntroden pathes to waile apart;
My pleasures horror, Musique tragick notes,
Teares in mine eyes, and sorrow at my hart.
If thys be loue, to liue a liuing death,
O then loue I, and draw this weary breath.