Sonnet 105: Unhappy Sight
Unhappy
sight,
and
hath
she
vanish'd
by
So
near,
in
so
good
time,
so
free
a
place?
Dead
glass,
dost
thou
thy
object
so
embrace,
As
what
my
heart
still
sees
thou
canst
not
spy?
I
swear
by
her
I
love
and
lack,
that
I
Was
not
in
fault,
who
bend
thy
dazzling
race
Only
unto
the
heav'n
of
Stella's
face,
Counting
but
dust
what
in
the
way
did
lie.
But
cease,
mine
eyes;
your
tears
do
witness
well
That
you,
guiltless
thereof,
your
nectar
miss'd:
Curs'd
be
the
page
from
whom
the
bad
torch
fell.
Curs'd
be
the
night
which
did
your
strife
resist,
Curs'd
be
the
coachman
which
did
drive
so
fast,
With
no
worse
curse
than
absence
makes
me
taste.