Song
Who hath his fancy pleased With fruits of happy sight,
Let here his eyes be raised On Nature's sweetest light;
A light which doth dissever And yet unite the eyes,
A light which, dying never, Is cause the looker dies.
She never dies, but lasteth In life of lover's heart;
He ever dies that wasteth In love his chiefest part:
Thus is her life still guarded In never-dying faith;
Thus is his death rewarded, Since she lives in his death.
Look then, and die!
The pleasure Doth answer well the pain:
Small loss of mortal treasure, Who may immortal gain!
Immortal be her graces, Immortal is her mind;
They, fit for heavenly places— This, heaven in it doth bind.
But eyes these beauties see not, Nor sense that grace descries;
Yet eyes deprived be not From sight of her fair eyes—Which, as of inward glory They are the outward seal,
So may they live still sorry, Which die not in that weal.
But who hath fancies pleased With fruits of happy sight,
Let here his eyes be raised On Nature's sweetest light!
Sir Philip Sidney
Other author posts
Sonnet 16 In Nature Apt
In nature apt to like when I did see Beauties, which were of many carats fine, My boiling sprites did thither soon incline, And, Love,
Sonnet 25 The Wisest Scholar
The wisest scholar of the wight most wise By Phoebus' doom, with sugar'd sentence says, That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes, Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise; But for that man with pain his truth descries,
Sonnet 10 Reason
Reason, in faith thou art well serv'd, that still Wouldst brabbling be with sense and love in me: I rather wish'd thee climb the Muses' hill, Or reach the fruit of Nature's choicest tree, Or seek heav'n's course, or heav'n's inside ...
Ring Out Your Bells
Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread; For Love is dead— All love is dead, infected With plague of deep disdain; Worth, as nought worth, rejected, And Faith fair scorn doth gain From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy,...
