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Poem by Robert Sidney


Sonnet 5. Of travails past oft when i thinking am


Of travails past oft when I thinking am,
Of days in sorrows spent, of easeless nights,
As they which show scars of bloody fights
Glory to me of my loves wounds I frame.

Thus on my ruins do I build my fame,
Thus do my miseries appear delights,
Till some new hurts make my benumbèd sprites
Feel that loves blows are not so pleasant game. 

Then full of pain, my too fond will I curse,
And cry at her as than a tiger worse,
And do forswear all bondage more to love;

Heavy with grief, till I mine eyes do heave
Unto her face, whence all joys I receive,
And think all nothing that for her I prove.



Robert Sidney


Robert Sidney's other poems:
  1. Sonnet 12. Who gives himself, may ill his words deny
  2. Sonnet 8. If that her worth I could as well forget
  3. Sonnet 10. She whom I serve to write did not despise
  4. Sonnet 15. You that haue power to kil, haue will to saue
  5. Sonnet 6. When rest locks up the treasures of delight


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