TWO winds, one calm, another fierce, to see;
Th' one of the Spring, of Winter th' other right:
I plainly, Lady, do discern in thee!
The first, which makes me joy, breathes from thy sight
Such dainty flowers, in diverse coloured show,
As makes to blush Dame iris's rainy bow.
The second, which makes me to pine away,
Blows from thine inward breast, a deadly blast;
Where doth eternal hardness always stay,
Which I do see eternal aye to last.
So as calm ZEPHYRUS, in face, thou art!
But rough as boisterous BOREAS, in thine heart.