LXIX. O joy! too high for my low style to show

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

O JOY! too high for my low style to show.

O bliss! fit for a nobler seat than me.

ENVY! put out thine eyes! lest thou do see

What oceans of delight in me do flow.

My friend! that oft saw, through all masks, my woe.

Come! come! and let me pour myself on thee!

Gone is the winter of my misery!

My spring appears! O see what here doth grow!

For STELLA hath with words (where faith doth shine),

Of her high heart given me the monarchy:

I! I! O I may say that she is mine.

And though she give but thus conditionally

This realm of bliss, “while virtuous course I take:”

No kings be crowned, but they some covenant make.