Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. I. Early Poetry: Chaucer to Donne
Sir Philip Sidney (15541586)Poems from The Arcadia
M
Their pasture is fair hills of fruitless love,
On barren sweets they feed, and feeding starve.
I wail their lot, but will not other prove;
My sheephook is wan hope, which all upholds;
My weeds Desire, cut out in endless folds;
What wool my sheep shall bear, whilst thus they live,
In you it is, you must the judgment give.
O N
Desire’s best mean, harvest of hearts affected,
The seat of peace, the throne which is erected
Of human life to be the quiet measure;
Be victor still of Phoebus’ golden treasure,
Who hath our sight with too much sight infected;
Whose light is cause we have our lives neglected,
Turning all Nature’s course to self displeasure.
These stately stars in their now shining faces,
With sinless sleep, and silence wisdom’s mother,
Witness his wrong which by thy help is easèd:
Thou art, therefore, of these our desert places
The sure refuge; by thee and by no other
My soul is blest, sense joy’d, and fortune raisèd.