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Sonnet XCVIII
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| From you have I been absent in the spring, | 1
| When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim | 2
| Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing, | 3
| That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. | 4
| Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell | 5
| Of different flowers in odour and in hue | 6
| Could make me any summer's story tell, | 7
| Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; | 8
| Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, | 9
| Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; | 10
| They were but sweet, but figures of delight, | 11
| Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. | 12
| Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, | 13
| As with your shadow I with these did play: | 14
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