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Poem by Michael Drayton


Sonnet 41. Why Do I Speak of Joy


    Love's Lunacy

Why do I speak of joy, or write of love,
When my heart is the very den of horror,
And in my soul the pains of Hell I prove,
With all his torments and infernal terror?
What should I say? What yet remains to do?
My brain is dry with weeping all too long,
My sighs be spent in uttering my woe,
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong;
But, still distracted in Love's lunacy,
And, bedlam-like, thus raging in my grief,
Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye,
Now call her Goddess, then I call her thief,
    Now I deny her, then I do confess her, 
    Now do I curse her, then again I bless her.



Michael Drayton


Michael Drayton's other poems:
  1. Roc
  2. Sonnet 39. Some, when in Rhyme They of their Loves do Tell
  3. Sonnet 56. When like an Eaglet I First Found My Love
  4. Sonnet 34. Marvel not, Love
  5. Sonnet 38. Sitting Alone, Love


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