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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=37874" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 13</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=37874" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Speake Eccho, tell; how may I call my loue? Loue.<br> But how his Lamps that are so christaline? Eyne.<br> Oh happy starrs that make your heauens diuine:<br>And happy Iems that admiration moue.<br>How tearm'st his golden tresses wau'd with aire? Haire.<br> Oh louely haire of your more-louely Maister,<br> Image of loue, faire shape of Alabaster,<br>Why do'st thou driue thy Louer to dispaire?<br>How do'st thou cal the bed wher beuty grows? Rose.<br> Faire virgine-Rose, whose mayden blossoms couer<br> The milke-white Lilly, thy imbracing Louer:<br>Whose kisses makes thee oft thy red to lose.<br> And blushing oft for shame, when he hath kist thee,<br> He vades away, and thou raing'st where it list thee.</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=Richard+Barnfield">Richard Barnfield</a></strong></div>

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