Sonnet #98
XCVIII.br /br /From you have I been absent in the spring,br /When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trimbr /Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing,br /That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.br /Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smellbr /Of different flowers in odour and in huebr /Could make me any summer's story tell,br /Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew;br /Nor did I wonder at the lily's white,br /Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose;br /They were but sweet, but figures of delight,br /Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.br /Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,br /As with your shadow I with these did play:
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