Oh no, weep not for want of any thing
Which, being gone or left or sought after,
Has caused thee pain or left a sting.
For I have loved thee for thy white laughter
And for thy keen Cheshire’s imitation.
Indeed, your tears cause me to forge my own.
If thou dost not love this tearful notion,
Let go your fear, let no sadness be sown,
For nothing does seem wanting or decayed
When I may see dear grace and love on they face.
But when I find thee so wholly dismayed,
My stomach doth churn and my mind doth pace
In anxiousness to appease that which takes
Your grin, or makes thy guarded heart to break.
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