Sonnet Xix: On Cupid's Bow

Sir Philip Sidney

On Cupid's bow how are my heartstrings bent,
That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same?
When most I glory, then I feel most shame:
I willing run, yet while I run, repent.

My best wits still their own disgrace invent:
My very ink turns straight to Stella's name;
And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame,
Avise themselves that they are vainly spent.

For though she pass all things, yet what is all
That unto me, who fare like him that both
Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall?

Oh let me prop my mind, yet in his growth,
And not in Nature, for best fruits unfit:
"Scholar," saith Love, "bend hitherward your wit." 

Next 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xli: Having This Day My Horse
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xv: You That Do Search
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xvi: In Nature Apt
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xvii: His Mother Dear Cupid
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xviii: With What Sharp Checks
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xx: Fly, Fly, My Friends
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xxi: Your Words, My Friend
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xxii: In Highest Way Of Heav'n
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xxiii: The Curious Wits
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xxiv: Rich Fools There Be

Previous 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xiv: Alas, Have I Not
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xiii: Phoebus Was Judge
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xii: Cupid, Because Thou
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xi: In Truth, Oh Love
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Xcii: Be Your Words Made
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet X: Reason
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Viii: Love, Born In Greece
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Vii: When Nature
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet Vi: Some Lovers Speak
• Sir Philip Sidney : Sonnet V: It Is Most True