Sir Philip Sidney

(1554 - 1586 / Kent / England)

Sir Philip Sidney Poems

41. Sonnet 105: Unhappy Sight 4/12/2010
42. Sonnet 106: Oh Absent Presence 4/12/2010
43. Sonnet 107: Stella, Since Thou So Right 4/12/2010
44. Sonnet 108: When Sorrow 4/12/2010
45. Sonnet 32: Morpheus The Lively Son 4/12/2010
46. Sonnet 34: Come Let Me Write 4/12/2010
47. Sonnet 35: What May Words Say 4/12/2010
48. Sonnet 36: Stella, Whence Doth This 4/12/2010
49. Sonnet 37: My Mouth Doth Water 4/12/2010
50. Sonnet 38: This Night While Sleep Begins 4/12/2010
51. Sonnet 40: As Good To Write 4/12/2010
52. Sonnet 41: Having This Day My Horse 4/12/2010
53. Sonnet 42: Oh Eyes, Which Do The Spheres 4/12/2010
54. Sonnet 43: Fair Eyes, Sweet Lips 4/12/2010
55. Sonnet 44: My Words, I Know Do Well 4/12/2010
56. Sonnet 45: Stella Oft Sees 4/12/2010
57. Sonnet 46: I Curs'D Thee Oft 4/12/2010
58. Sonnet 47: What, Have I Thus Betray'D 4/12/2010
59. Sonnet 48: Soul's Joy, Bend Not 4/12/2010
60. Sonnet 5: It Is Most True 4/12/2010
61. Sonnet 50: Stella, The Fullness Of My Thoughts 4/12/2010
62. Sonnet 51: Pardon Mine Ears 4/12/2010
63. Sonnet 52: A Strife Is Grown 4/12/2010
64. Sonnet 53: In Martial Sports 4/12/2010
65. Sonnet 54: Because I Breathe 4/12/2010
66. Sonnet 55: Muses, I Oft Invoked 4/12/2010
67. Sonnet 56: Fie, School Of Patience 4/12/2010
68. Sonnet 57: Woe, Having Made With Many Fights 4/12/2010
69. Sonnet 58: Doubt There Hath Been 4/12/2010
70. Sonnet 59: Dear, Why Make You More 4/12/2010
71. Sonnet 6: Some Lovers Speak 4/12/2010
72. Sonnet 60: When My Good Angel Guides Me 4/12/2010
73. Sonnet 61: Oft With True Sighs 4/12/2010
74. Sonnet 62: Late, Tir'D With Woe 4/12/2010
75. Sonnet 63: Oh Grammar Rules 4/12/2010
76. Sonnet 65: Love By Sure Proof 4/12/2010
77. Sonnet 66: And Do I See Some Cause 4/12/2010
78. Sonnet 67: Hope, Art Thou True 4/12/2010
79. Sonnet 68: Stella, The Only Planet 4/12/2010
80. Sonnet 69: Oh Joy, Too High For My Low Style 4/12/2010
Best Poem of Sir Philip Sidney

Leave Me, O Love Which Reachest But To Dust

Leave me, O love which reachest but to dust,
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust:
Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be,
Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light
That doth both shine and give us sight to see.
O, take fast hold; let that light be thy guide
In this small course which birth draws out to death,
And think how evil becometh him to slide
Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.
Then ...

Read the full of Leave Me, O Love Which Reachest But To Dust

Sonnet Vii: When Nature

When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes,
In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright?
Would she in beamy black, like painter wise,
Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light?

Or did she else that sober hue devise,
In object best to knit and strength our sight,
Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise,
They sun-like should more dazzle than delight?

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