English

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 rein,
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
Th'anatomy of all my woes I wrate,
Stella 's sweet breath the same to me did read.

Woe, having made with many fights his own
Each sense of mine, each gift, each power of mind,
Grown now his slaves, he forced them out to find
The thorough'st words, fit for woe's self to groan,
Hoping that when they might find Stella alone,
Before she could prepare to be unkind,
Her soul, armed but with such a dainty rind,
Should soon be pierced with sharpness of the moan.
She heard my plaints, and did not only hear,
But them (so sweet is she) most sweetly sing,

In martial sports I had my cunning tried,
And yet to break more staves did me address,
While with the people's shouts, I must confess,
Youth, luck, and praise e'en filled my veins with pride;
When Cupid , having me his slave descried
In Mars 's liv'ry, prancing in the press:
" What now, sir fool," said he, " I would no less,
Look here, I say." I looked, and Stella spied,
Who hard by made a window send forth light.
My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes,

Pardon mine ears; both I and they do pray,
So may your tongue still fluently proceed
To them that do such entertainment need,
So may you still have somewhat new to say.
On silly me do not the burden lay
Of all the grave conceits your brain doth breed,
But find some Hercules to bear, in steed
Of Atlas tired, your wisdom's heav'nly sway.
For me, while you discourse of courtly tides,
Of cunning'st fishers in most troubled streams,
Of straying ways, when valiant error guides,

Stella , the fullness of my thoughts of thee
Cannot be stayed within my panting breast,
But they do swell and struggle forth of me,
Till that in words thy figure be expressed.
And yet as soon as they so formed be,
According to my lord Love's own behest,
With sad eyes I their weak proportion see,
To portrait that which in this world is best.
So that I cannot choose but write my mind,
And cannot choose but put out what I write,
While those poor babes their death in birth do find:

Fair eyes, sweet lips, dear heart, that foolish I
Could hope by Cupid 's help on you to prey;
Since to himself he doth your gifts apply,
As his main force, choice sport, and easeful stay.
For when he will see who dare him gainsay,
Then with those eyes he looks; lo, by and by
Each soul doth at Love's feet his weapons lay,
Glad if for her he give them leave to die.
When he will play, then in her lips he is,
Where blushing red, that Love's self them doth love,
With either lip he doth the other kiss:

O eyes, which do the spheres of beauty move,
Whose beams be joys, whose joys all virtues be,
Who while they make love conquer, conquer love,
The schools where Venus hath learned chastity;
O eyes, where humble looks most glorious prove
Only loved tyrants, just in cruelty:
Do not, O do not from poor me remove;
Keep still my zenith, ever shine on me.
For though I never see them, but straight ways
My life forgets to nourish languished sprites,
Yet still on me, O eyes, dart down your rays:

WHEREIN A GRIEVING BIRD REMINDS HIM OF HIS OWN HEAVIER ANGUISH

Sweet wandering bird, that on the branch you swing to
Pour such impartial music or in phrases
Darkened with imminent winter mourn dead graces
As song dies with the summer that you sing to —
Ah could you guess the bitter bough I cling to,
Your golden grief would find in mine clear traces
Of kinship! In my heart your singing space is;
One song is ours, one measure we both ring to.
And yet who knows? The grief you give a name to

WHEREIN HE INVOKES THE AID OF LOVE TO SING HER WORTHILY

Ah Love, assist my faint and foolish brain!
Pillar the style, sustain the lyric portal!
Help me to sing of her who is immortal,
A citizen of the celestial reign!
Permit, Lord, that my verses may attain
The reach of her proud praise (presumptuous mortal!)
Whose passing our poor world must now deplore till
The Golden Trumpet give her back again.
Love answers: " In myself and Heaven the best,
By converse pure and precept sage and holy,

IN A VISION OF LAURA, HE LAMENTS THE EMPTINESS OF THE WORLD WITHOUT HER

O happy Spirit that, so sweetly beaming,
Didst bend on me those more than starlike glances,
And sigh soft words whereof each accent dances
To its own music, its own echoes streaming:
Now I behold thee, with a pure flame gleaming,
Over the grass and violet's purple lances
Glide like an angel to my dazzled fancies,
Alive, a-light and vivid beyond seeming!
Yet to the Sun and Source thou art returned,
Leaving to mortal dissolution here