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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115091" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XV</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=115091" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Dear Mansergh! Of the few this breast who share,<br>And share in pitying sympathy its woe,<br>You best my vast excess of passion know,<br>And all the sorrow I am doom'd to bear,<br>While thoughts can present with the past compare.<br>Shall memory e'er that summer-day forego,<br>When thy fair Mate did every care bestow,<br>And vermeil fruits and fragrant wreaths prepare,<br>In honour of my Child, to dress the bower!<br>And when the sweet epitome of grace<br>Tripp'd o'er the walks, and honied every flower,<br>You mark'd the opening beauties of her face;<br>Mark'd how my captured soul was lost in love,<br>And trembled for the dire reverse I prove.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Brooke+Boothby">Brooke Boothby</a></strong></div>

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