Thine eyes I love, and they, as pitying me
Knowing thy heart torments me with disdain
Have put on black, and loving mourners be
Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain
And truly not the morning sun of heaven
Better becomes the grey cheeks of the east
Nor that full star that ushers in the even
Doth half that glory to the sober west
As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
O, let it then as well beseem thy heart
To mourn for me, since mourning doth thee grace
And suit thy pity like in every part
Then will I swear beauty herself is black
And all they foul that thy complexion lack