Astrophil and Stella

Sonnet 44

My words I know do well set forth my mind; 
   My mind bemoans his sense of inward smart; 
   Such smart may pity claim of any heart; 
Her heart, sweet heart, is of no tiger's kind: 
And yet she hears and yet no pity I find, 
   But more I cry, less grace she doth impart. 
   Alas, what cause is there so overthwart 
That nobleness itself makes thus unkind? 
   I much do guess, yet find no truth save this, 
That when the breath of my complaints doth touch 
Those dainty doors unto the court of bliss, 
The heavenly nature of that place is such, 
   That, once come there, the sobs of mine annoys 
   Are metamorphosed straight to tunes of joys.
Sir Philip Sidney

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