To His Absent Diana

Severed from sweet content, my live's sole light, Banished by over-weening wit from my desire, This poor acceptance only I require: That though my fault have forced me from thy sight Yet that thou would'st, my sorrows to requite, Review these sonnets, pictures of thy praise; Wherein each woe thy wondrous worth doth raise, Though first thy worth bereft me of delight. See them forsaken; for I them forsook, Forsaken first of thee, next of my sense; And when thou deign'st on their black tears to look, Shed not one tear, my tears to recompence; But joy in this, though fate 'gainst me repine, My verse still lives to witness thee divine.