Sir Philip Sidney

Astrophel and Stella: XXXIII

I might!—unhappy word—O me, I might,
   And then would not, or could not, see my bliss;
   Till now wrapt in a most infernal night,
   I find how heav’nly day, wretch! I did miss.
   Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right;
   No lovely Paris made thy Helen his,
   No force, no fraud robb’d thee of thy delight,
   Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is;
   But to myself myself did give the blow,
 While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me
 That I respects for both our sakes must show:
 And yet could not by rising morn foresee
 How fair a day was near: O punish’d eyes,
 That I had been more foolish,—or more wise!
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