Not Once nor Twice

A third, nor red nor white, had stoln of both,
When proud pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Upon that blessed wood whose motion sounds
As, to prevent our maladies unseen,

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
For that which longer nurseth the disease;
Come in the rearward of a conquered woe;
And by their verdict is determined

Could make me any summers story tell,
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
The sun itself sees not, till heaven clears.
My deepest sense, how hard true sorrow hits,

As those two mourning eyes become thy face:
And ruined love, when it is built anew,