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Poem by Philip Sidney
Sonnet 43. Fair Eyes, Sweet Lips
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: But when he will for quiet's sake remove From all the world, her heart is then his room Where well he knows, no man to him can come.
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