Her beauty

~She walks in beauty shining like the law  
 Upon her head a platted hive of straw,
    Which fortified her visage from the sun,
    Whereon the thought might think sometime it saw
   
    FROM off a hill whose concave womb reworded
    A plaintful story from a sistering vale,
In jail
Hoping for bail so that
    My spirits can attend this double voice accorded,
    And down I laid to list the sad-tuned tale;
    Ere long espied a fickle maid full pale,
    Tearing of papers, breaking rings a-twain,
    Storming her world with sorrow's wind and rain.
I could see her pride of beauty again
 Move through her veins sadness in her eyes
A full mind no men could dwell and conceive
A vision she now bereaves

inspiration

that devoted her to cry out blood

she was given by her mother.