When Love Puffed Up With Rage Of High Disdain

Sir Philip Sidney

When Love puffed up with rage of high disdain,
Resolved to make me pattern of his might,
Like foe, whose wits inclined to deadly spite,
Would often kill, to breed more feeling pain;
He would not, armed with beauty, only reign
On those affects which easily yield to sight;
But virtue sets so high, that reason’s light,
For all his strife can only bondage gain:
So that I live to pay a mortal fee,
Dead palsy-sick of all my chiefest parts,
Like those whom dreams make ugly monsters see,
And can cry help with naught but groans and starts:
Longing to have, having no wit to wish,
To starving minds such is god Cupid’s dish.

Next 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Wooing-stuff
• Sir Philip Sidney : You Gote-heard Gods
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Answers
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Aubade
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Bells Of Gray Crystal
• Dame Edith Sitwell : By The Lake
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Came The Great Popinjay
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Clowns' Houses
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Four In The Morning
• Dame Edith Sitwell : Interlude

Previous 10 Poems

• Sir Philip Sidney : Voices At The Window
• Sir Philip Sidney : Virtue, Beauty, And Speech, Did Strike, Wound, Charm
• Sir Philip Sidney : Verses ( No, No, No, No )
• Sir Philip Sidney : Verses
• Sir Philip Sidney : Two Pastorals
• Sir Philip Sidney : Translation From Horace, Book Ii. Ode X., Beginning 'rectius Vives, Licini,' &c.
• Sir Philip Sidney : To The Tune Of A Neapolitan Villanel
• Sir Philip Sidney : To The Sad Moon
• Sir Philip Sidney : Thou Blind Man's Mark
• Sir Philip Sidney : This Lady's Cruelty