Sonnet 98

1 From you have I been absent in the spring,
2 When proud-pied April (dressed in all his trim)
3 Hath put a spirit of youth in every thing:
4 That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
5 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
6 Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
7 Could make me any summer’s story tell:
8 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
9 Nor did I wonder at the lily’s white,
10 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose,
11 They were but sweet, but figures of delight:
12 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
13 Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
14 As with your shadow I with these did play.