Robert Sidney

Sonnet 9. Oft had I passed the joys and griefs of love

Oft had I passed the joys and griefs of love
And weary of them both was laid to rest,
And now desire, as an unworthy quest
Which doth oppress his friend I did remove:

No woman’s force, I thought, should ever move
My soul comes home again to new unrest,
When you, or in your shape an Angel dressed,
Called out my quiet thoughts once more to love:

Straight my proud will did unto prayers turn,
For who in you, not cause of love doth find
Or blind he is of eyes, or blind of mind.

I yield, I love: to you, than erst, I burn
More hot, more pure; like wood oft warm before,
But to you burnt to dust, can burn no more.