Voices at the Window
Who is it that, this dark night, Underneath my window plaineth? It is one who from thy sight Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth Every other vulgar light. Why, alas, and are you he? Be not
Sonnet XII: Cupid, Because Thou
Cupid, because thou shin’st in Stella’s eyes, That from her locks, thy day-nets, noe scapes free, That those lips swell, so full of thee they be, That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames
Sonnet XXVII: Because I Oft
Because I oft in dark abstracted guise Seem most alone in greatest company, With dearth of words, or answers quite awry, To them that would make speech of speech arise, They deem, and of
Sonnet XXV: The Wisest Scholar
The wisest scholar of the wight most wise By Phoebus’ doom, with sugar’d sentence says, That Virtue, if it once met with our eyes, Strange flames of love it in our souls would raise;
Leave Me, O Love Which Reachest But To Dust
Leave me, O love which reachest but to dust, And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things; Grow rich in that which never taketh rust: Whatever fades but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy