by Fulke Greville


Love, the delight of all well-thinking minds ;
Delight, the fruit of virtue dearly lov'd ;
Virtue, the highest good, that Reason finds ;
Reason, the fire wherein men's thoughts be prov'd ;
    Are from the world by Nature's power bereft,
    And in one creature, for her glory, left.

Beauty, her cover is, the eyes' true pleasure ;
In Honour's fame she lives ; the ears' sweet music ;
Excess of wonder grows from her true measure ;
Her worth is Passion's wound, and Passion's physic ;
    From her true heart, clear springs of wisdom flow,
    Which imag'd in her words and deeds, men know.

Time fain would stay, that she might never leave her ;
Place doth rejoice, that she must needs contain her ;
Death craves of Heaven, that she may not bereave her ;
The heavens know their own, and do maintain her ;
    Delight, Love, Reason, Virtue, let it be,
    To set all women light, but only she.

Grosart, Alexander B., Ed. The Friend of Sir Philip Sidney.
London: Elliot Stock, 1894. 47-48.

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