Memories of Thy Love

Hath thou ever loved me”, ask’th thine of me,
“I hath”, I answered to thee.
But love mak’th man blind,
Nay, it also doth put him in a bind,
For he know’th not now, where to find,
That perfidious heart, that hath swathed his mind.

For twenty autumns, doth I wait,
As from this mind, thou memories wane,
Lest thy thoughts pos’th a bait,
And mak’th me crave in vain.

Then when this mind, has cleansed of thy memory,
Sullied doth it become, by thy dolorous ditty,
Danc’th the ticker, in amorous penury,
It obey’th me not, in wily audacity.

“Hath thou ever loved”, I ask’th of me,
“I think I do’th”, he say’th to me,
So twenty autumns doth fall short,
For thy memories dwell’th still, in this wanton heart.