Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust; …
Sir Philip Sidney
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, …
Stella is sick, and in that sick-bed lies …
Where be the roses gone, which sweetened so our eyes? …
O absent presence, Stella is not here; …
Stella, since thou so right a princess art …
Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend, …
You that do search for every purling spring …
Not at first sight, nor with a dribbèd shot, …
Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound, fly! …
Your words my friend (right healthful caustics) blame …
The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness …
The wisest scholar of the wight most wise …
Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine, …
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! …
I might!—unhappy word—O me, I might, …
Come Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, …
Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance …
What, have I thus betrayed my liberty? …
Soul’s joy, bend not those morning stars from me, …
I on my horse, and Love on me, doth try …
It is most true, that eyes are formed to serve …
A strife is grown between Virtue and Love, …
O Grammar rules, O now your virtues show; …
No more, my dear, no more these counsels try; …
When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes, …
Who will in fairest book of nature know …
Desire, though thou my old companion art, …
Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be, …
Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame, …
Be your words made, good sir, of Indian ware, …
"Who is it that this dark night …
Only joy, now here you are, …
Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread; …
Whose sense in so evil consort, their stepdame Nature lays, …
My true-love hath my heart and I have his, …
The nightingale, as soon as April bringeth …
What length of verse can serve brave Mopsa’s good to show, …