LXII. Late tired with woe, even ready for to pine

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

LATE tired with woe, even ready for to pine

With rage of love, I called my love “unkind!”

She in whose eyes love, though unfelt, doth shine

Sweetly said, “That I, true love in her should find.”

I joyed; but straight thus watered was my wine.

“That love she did, but loved a love not blind;

Which would not let me, whom she loved, decline

From nobler course, fit for my birth and mind:

And therefore by her love’s authority,

Willed me, these tempests of vain love to fly;

And anchor fast myself on Virtue’s shore.”

Alas, if this the only metal be

Of love new coined to help my beggary:

Dear! love me not, that ye may love me more!