O Petrarch! I am here. I bow to thee,
Great king of sonnets, throned long ago
And lover-like, as Love enjoineth me,
And miser-like, enamoured of my woe,
I reckon up my teardrops as they flow.
I would not lose the power to shed a tear
For all the wealth of Plutus and his reign.
I would not be so base as not complain
When she I love is absent from my sight.
No, not for all the marvels of the night,
And all the varying splendours of the year.
Do thou assist me, thou! that art the light
Of all true lovers' souls, in all the sphere,
To make a May-time of my sorrows slain.