Sonnet VII: Of His Lady's Weeping

What need I say how it doth wound my breast,
By fate to be thus banished from thine eyes,
Since your own tears with me do sympathize,
Pleading with slow departure there to rest?
For when with floods of tears they were opprest,
Over those ivory banks they did not rise,
Till others, envying their felicities,
Did press them forth, that they might there be blest.
Some of which tears, pressed forth by violence,
Your lips with greedy kissing straight did drink:
And other some, unwilling to part thence,
Enamoured on your cheeks in them did sink;
And some which from your face were forced away,
In sign of love, did on your garment stay.