Sonnet IV

Gabrielle de Coignard
1550 – 1586


The sun, upon a cliff its bright rays beaming,
Trickles the melting snow; and so my lot
As well: I too melt when I feel the hot
Gentleness of your flame upon me gleaming.

My weeping eye becomes a brooklet, streaming;
And my soul, vanquishing my flesh, vows not
Again to bend itswill—nay, not one jot—
To seek out vice or be full wayward-seeming.

But let your fire desist, leaving me lost,
And cold my heart grows, frozen more than frost
Of frigid winter’s day, white as the snows.

Dear Lord, I pray you not abandon me!
Return, else eath must be my destiny:
I live but by that gift your grace bestows.

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