Sir Philip Sidney(1554–1586)

Sonnet 31

With how sad steps, Oh Moon, thou climb'st the skies,

How silently, and with how wan 0 a face!pale

What may it be, that even in heav'nly place

That busy archer3 his sharp arrows tries

Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes

Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case;

I read it in thy looks: thy languished grace,

To me that feel the like, thy state descries.reveals

Then even of fellowship, Oh Moon, tell me,

Is constant love deemed there but want of wit

Are beauties there as proud as here they be

Do they above love to be loved, and yet

Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess

Do they call virtue there ungratefulness4