Can those black beams such burning marks
engrave
In my free side? Or am I born a slave
Whose neck become such yoke of tyranny?
Or want (lack) I sense to feel my misery?
Or sprite (spirit), disdain of such disdain to have?
Who, for long faith, though daily help I crave,
May get no alms but scorn of beggary?
Virtue, awake, Beauty but beauty is,
I may, I must, I can, I will, I do
Leave following that which it is gain to miss,
Let her go. Soft, but here she comes. "Go to,
Unkind, I love you not." O me, that eye
Doth make my heart give to my tongue the lie.
Sir Phillip Sidney, Sonnets from Astrophil and Stella
**funny how it takes sonnets to grasp my attention in class. says a lot.
No comments:
Post a Comment