Sonnet 132

　　Thine eyes I love，and they，as pitying me，

　　Knowing thy heart torment me with disdain，

　　Have put on black，and loving mourners be，

　　Looking with pretty ruth upon my pain，

　　And truly not the morning sun of heaven

　　Better becomes the gray cheeks of the east，

　　Nor that full star that ushers in the even

　　Doth half that glory to the sober west，

　　As those two mourning eyes become thy face，

　　O，let it then，as well besee