I.

You that thus wear a modest countenance With lids weigh’d down by the heart’s heaviness, Whence come you, that among you every face Appears the same, for its pale troubled glance? Have you beheld my lady’s face, perchance, Bow’d with the grief that Love makes full of grace? Say now, “This thing is thus;” as my heart says, Marking your grave and sorrowful advance. And if indeed you come from where she sighs And mourns, may it please you (for his heart’s relief) To tell how it fares with her unto him Who knows that you have wept, seeing your eyes, And is so grieved with looking on your grief That his heart trembles and his sight grows dim.

_This sonnet is divided into two parts. In the first, I call and ask these ladies whether they come from her, telling them that I think they do, because they return the nobler. In the second, I pray them to tell me of her; and the second begins here, “And if indeed.”_