SONNET X.

HONORA, shou'd that cruel time arrive

When‘ gainst my truth thou should'st my errors poize,

Scorning remembrance of our vanish'd joys;

When for the love-warm looks, in which I live,

But cold respect must greet me, that shall give

No tender glance, no kind regretful sighs;

When thou shalt pass me with averted eyes,

Feigning thou see'st me not, to sting, and grieve,

And sicken my sad heart, I cou'd not bear

Such dire eclipse of thy soul-cheering rays;

I cou'd not learn my struggling heart to tear

From thy lov'd form, that thro’ my memory strays;

Nor in the pale horizon of Despair

Endure the wintry and the darken'd days.