XCI. Stella! while now, by honour’s cruel might

Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

STELLA! while now, by honour’s cruel might,

I am from you—light of my life misled!

And that fair you, my sun, thus overspread,

With absence veil; I live in sorrow’s night.

If this dark place yet show, like candlelight,

Some beauty’s piece, as amber-coloured head,

Milk hands, rose cheeks, or lips more sweet, more red;

Or seeing gets black, but in blackness bright:

They please, I do confess, they please mine eyes.

But why? Because of you they models be.

Models! Such be wood globes of glistering skies.

Dear! Therefore be not jealous over me,

If you hear that they seem my heart to move.

Not them, O no! but you in them I love.