Astrophil and Stella

Sonnet 19

On Cupid's bow how are my heart-strings bent, 
   That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same! 
   When most I glory, then I feel most shame; 
I willing run, yet while I run repent; 
My best wits still their own disgrace invent: 
   My very ink turns straight to Stella's name;   
   And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame, 
Avise them selves that they are vainly spent: 
   For though she pass all things, yet what is all 
That unto me, who fare like him that both 
Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall? 
O let me prop my mind, yet in his growth, 
   And not in nature for best fruits unfit. 
   Scholar, saith Love, bend hitherward your wit.  
Sir Philip Sidney

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