Sonnet XVII: As are the sandes (faire Licia) on

As are the sandes (faire Licia) on the shore,
Or colourd floures, garlands of the spring,
Or as the frosts not seene, nor felt before,
Or as the fruites that Autume foorth doth bring,
As twinckling starres, the tinsell of the night,
Or as the fish that gallope in the seas,
As aires each part that still escapes our sight:
So are my sighes, controllers of my ease.
Yet these are such, as needes must have an end,
For things finite, none els hath nature done:
Onlie the sighes, which from my heart I send,
Will never cease, but where they first begunne.
Accept them (sweet) as incense due to thee:
For you immottall made them so to be.