Sonnet XLI: Why Do I Speak of Joy
Love's Lunacy
Why do I speak of joy, or write of love,When my heart is the very den of horror,And in my soul the pains of Hell I prove,With all his torments and infernal terror?What should I say? What yet remains to do?My brain is dry with weeping all too long,My sighs be spent in uttering my woe,And I want words wherewith to tell my wrong;But, still distracted in Love's lunacy,And, bedlam-like, thus raging in my grief,Now rail upon her hair, then on her eye,Now call her Goddess, then I call her thief,Now I deny her, then I do confess her,Now do I curse her, then again I bless her.
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