If this be love (Sonnet IX)

If this be love, to draw a weary breath, 
Paint on floods, till the shore, cry to th’air, 
With downward looks still reading on the earth, 
The sad memorials of my love’s despair. 
If this be love, to war against my soul, 
Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve me, 
The never-resting stone of care to roll, 
Still to complain my griefs, and none relieve me. 
If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts, 
Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart, 
My pleasures horror, music tragic notes, 
Tears in my eyes, and sorrow at my heart. 
If this be love, to live a living death, 
O then love I and draw this weary breath. 

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