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“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 tormented and infernal terror? What should I say? what yet remains to do? My brain is dry with weeping all too long; My signs be spent in utt'ring of my woe, And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong. Love's Lunacy: Sonnet XLI” — Michael Drayton
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 tormented and infernal terror?
What should I say? what yet remains to do?
My brain is dry with weeping all too long;
My signs be spent in utt'ring of my woe,
And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong.
Love's Lunacy: Sonnet XLI