Sonet 22

A poem by Michael Drayton

An euill spirit your beauty haunts me still,
Where-with (alas) I haue been long possest,
Which ceaseth not to tempt me vnto ill,
Nor giues me once but one pore minutes rest.
In me it speakes, whether I sleepe or wake,
And when by meanes to driue it out I try,
With greater torments then it me doth take,
And tortures me in most extreamity.
Before my face, it layes all my dispaires,
And hasts me on vnto a suddaine death;
Now tempting me, to drown my selfe in teares,
And then in sighing to giue vp my breath:
Thus am I still prouok'd to euery euill,
By this good wicked spirit, sweet Angel deuill.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'Sonet 22' by Michael Drayton

comments powered by Disqus