Astrophil and Stella
Doubt there hath been when with his golden chain
The orator so far men's hearts doth bind,
That no pace else their guided steps can find
But as he them more short or slack doth rain;
Whether with words this sovereignty he gain,
Clothed with fine tropes, with strongest reasons lined,
Or else pronouncing grace, wherewith his mind
Prints his own lively form in rudest brain.
Now judge by this: in piercing phrases late
The anatomy of all my woes I wrate;
Stellas sweet breath the same to me did reed.
O voice, O face! maugre my speech's might,
Which wooed woe, most ravishing delight
Even those sad words even in sad me did breed.
Sir Philip Sidney
Back to Sonnet 57
Forward to Sonnet 59