Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

PHŒBUS, farewell! a sweeter Saint I serve:

The high conceits thy heavenly wisdoms breed,

My thoughts forget, my thoughts which never swerve

From her in whom is sown their freedom’s seed,

And in whose eyes my daily doom I read.

Phœbus, farewell! a sweeter Saint I serve:

Thou art far off, thy kingdom is above;

She heaven on earth with beauties doth preserve;

Thy beams I like, but her clear rays I love;

Thy force I fear, her force I still do prove.

Phœbus, yield up thy title in my mind

She doth possess: thy image is defaced;

But, if thy rage some brave revenge will find

On her who hath in me thy temple raced,

Employ thy might that she my fires may taste;

And, how much more her worth surmounteth thee,

Make her as much more base by loving me.