Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Best Famous Sir Philip Sidney Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Sir Philip Sidney poems. This is a select list of the best famous Sir Philip Sidney poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Sir Philip Sidney poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of sir philip sidney poems.

Search for the best famous Sir Philip Sidney poems, articles about Sir Philip Sidney poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Sir Philip Sidney poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

See also: Best Member Poems

Go Back

by Sir Philip Sidney | |

To The Sad Moon

 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What! May it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer 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.
Then, even of fellowship, O 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— ungratefulness?


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Astrophel And Stella-Sonnet LIV

 Because I breathe not love to every one,
Nor do not use set colours for to wear,
Nor nourish special locks of vowed hair,
Nor give each speech a full point of a groan,
The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan
Of them who in their lips Love's standard bear,
"What, he!" say they of me, "now I dare swear
He cannot love.
No, no, let him alone.
"— And think so still, so Stella know my mind! Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art; But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find, That his right badge is worn but in the heart.
Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove: They love indeed who quake to say they love.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet XXX: Whether the Turkish New Moon

 Whether the Turkish new moon minded be 
To fill his horns this year on Christian coast; 
How Poles' right king means, with leave of host, 
To warm with ill-made fire cold Muscovy; 

If French can yet three parts in one agree; 
What now the Dutch in their full diets boast; 
How Holland hearts, now so good towns be lost, 
Trust in the shade of pleasing Orange tree; 

How Ulster likes of that same golden bit 
Wherewith my father once made it half tame; 
If in the Scotch court be no welt'ring yet: 

These questions busy wits to me do frame.
I, cumber'd with good manners, answer do, But know not how, for still I think of you.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet V: It Is Most True

 It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve 
The inward light; and that the heavenly part 
Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, 
Rebles to Nature, strive for their own smart.
It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart, An image is, which for ourselves we carve: And, fools, adore in temple of hour heart, Till that good God make Church and churchman starve.
True, that ture beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed: True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move: True, and yet true that I must Stella love.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet LXXI: Who Will in Fairest Book

 Who will in fairest book of nature know
How virtue may best lodg'd in beauty be,
Let him but learn of love to read in thee,
Stella, those fair lines which true goodness show.
There shall he find all vices' overthrow, Not by rude force, but sweetest sovereignty Of reason, from whose light those night-birds fly; That inward sun in thine eyes shineth so.
And, not content to be perfection's heir Thyself, dost strive all minds that way to move, Who mark in thee what is in thee most fair.
So while thy beauty draws thy heart to love, As fast thy virtue bends that love to good: But "Ah," Desire still cries, "Give me some food!"


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet IX: Queen Virtues Court

 Queen Virtue's court, which some call Stella's face, 
Prepar'd by Nature's choicest furniture, 
Hath his front built of alabaster pure; 
Gold in the covering of that stately place.
The door by which sometimes comes forth her Grace Red porphir is, which lock of pearl makes sure, Whose porches rich (which name of cheeks endure) Marble mix'd red and white do interlace.
The windows now through which this heav'nly guest Looks o'er the world, and can find nothing such, Which dare claim from those lights the name of best, Of touch they are that without touch doth touch, Which Cupid's self from Beauty's mine did draw: Of touch they are, and poor I am their straw.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet XXI: Your Words My Friend

 Your words, my friend, (right healthful caustics) blame 
My young mind marr'd, whom Love doth windlass so, 
That mine own writings like bad servants show 
My wits, quick in vain thoughts, in virtue lame; 

That Plato I read for nought, but if he tame 
Such doltish gyres; that to my birth I owe 
Nobler desires, lest else that friendly foe, 
Great Expectation, were a train of shame.
For since mad March great promise made of me, If now the May of my years much decline, What can be hoped my harvest time will be? Sure you say well, "Your wisdom's golden mine, Dig deep with learning's spade.
" Now tell me this, Hath this world aught so fair as Stella is?


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

The Highway

 Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be,
And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet,
Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet
More oft than to a chamber-melody,--
Now blessed you bear onward blessèd me
To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet;
My Muse and I must you of duty greet
With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully;
Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed;
By no encroachment wrong'd, nor time forgot;
Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed;
And that you know I envy you no lot
Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss,
Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss!


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Astrophel And Stella-Sonnet XXXI

 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What! may it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer 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.
Then even of fellowship, O 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 ungratefulness?


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet XXIV: Rich Fools There Be

 Rich fools there be, whose base and filthy heart 
Lies hatching still the goods wherein they flow: 
And damning their own selves to Tantal's smart, 
Wealth breeding want, more blist more wretched grow.
Yet to those fools heav'n such wit doth impart As what their hands do hold, their heads do know, And knowing love, and loving, lay apart, As sacred things, far from all danger's show.
But that rich fool who by blind Fortune's lot The richest gem of love and life enjoys, And can with foul abuse such beauties blot; Let him, depriv'd of sweet but unfelt joys, (Exil'd for aye from those high treasures, which He knows not) grow in only folly rich.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

This Ladys Cruelty

 WITH how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies! 
How silently, and with how wan a face! 
What! may it be that even in heavenly place 
That busy archer 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 languish'd grace 
To me, that feel the like, thy state descries.
Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deem'd 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--ungratefulness?


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet XLI: Having This Day My Horse

 Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance
Guided so well that I obtain'd the prize,
Both by the judgment of the English eyes
And of some sent from that sweet enemy France;
Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance,
Town folks my strength; a daintier judge applies
His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise;
Some lucky wits impute it but to chance;
Others, because of both sides I do take
My blood from them who did excel in this,
Think Nature me a man of arms did make.
How far they shot awry! The true cause is, Stella look'd on, and from her heav'nly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet X: Reason

 Reason, in faith thou art well serv'd, that still 
Wouldst brabbling be with sense and love in me: 
I rather wish'd thee climb the Muses' hill, 
Or reach the fruit of Nature's choicest tree, 

Or seek heav'n's course, or heav'n's inside to see: 
Why shouldst thou toil our thorny soil to till? 
Leave sense, and those which sense's objects be: 
Deal thou with powers of thoughts, leave love to will.
But thou wouldst needs fight both with love and sense, With sword of wit, giving wounds of dispraise, Till downright blows did foil thy cunning fence: For soon as they strake thee with Stella's rays, Reason thou kneel'dst, and offeredst straight to prove By reason good, good reason her to love.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

My True Love Hath My Heart And I Have His

 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange, one for the other giv'n.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss; There never was a better bargain driv'n.
His heart in me keeps me and him in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides; He loves my heart, for once it was his own; I cherish his, because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight: My heart was wounded with his wounded heart; For as from me, on him his hurt did light, So still me thought in me his hurt did smart: Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss: My true love hath my heart and I have his.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sleep

 Come Sleep; O Sleep! the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the prease
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw:
O make in me those civil wars to cease;
I will good tribute pay, if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf to noise and blind of light, A rosy garland and a weary head; And if these things, as being thine by right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Come Sleep O Sleep! The Certain Knot Of Peace

 Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace,
The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe,
The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release,
Th' indifferent judge between the high and low;
With shield of proof shield me from out the press
Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw!
O make in me those civil wars to cease!— 
I will good tribute pay if thou do so.
Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, A rosy garland, and a weary head; And if these things, as being thine in right, Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me, Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Sonnet XXVII: Because I Oft

 Because I oft in dark abstracted guise 
Seem most alone in greatest company, 
With dearth of words, or answers quite awry, 
To them that would make speech of speech arise, 

They deem, and of their doom the rumor flies, 
That poison foul of bubbling pride doth lie 
So in my swelling breast that only I 
Fawn on myself, and others do despise: 

Yet pride I think doth not my soul possess, 
Which looks too oft in his unflatt'ring glass: 
But one worse fault, ambition, I confess, 

That makes me oft my best friends overpass, 
Unseen, unheard, while though to highest place 
Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Astrophel And Stella - Sonnet CVIII

 When Sorrow, using mine own fire's might,
 Melts down his lead into my boiling breast,
 Through that dark furnace to my heart oppressed,
There shines a joy from thee, my only light:
But soon as thought of thee breeds my delight,
 And my young soul flutters to thee, his nest,
 Most rude Despair, my daily unbidden guest,
Clips straight my wings, straight wraps me in his night,
 And makes me then bow down my head and say:
"Ah, what doth Phoebus' gold that wretch avail
Whom iron doors do keep from use of day?"
So strangely (alas) thy works in me prevail,
 That in my woes for thee thou art my joy,
 And in my joys for thee my only annoy.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

Leave Me O Love Which Reachest But to Dust

 Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust, 
And thou my mind aspire to higher things: 
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust: 
Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might, To that sweet yoke, where lasting freedoms be: Which breaks the clouds and opens forth the light, That doth both shine and give us sight to see.
O take fast hold, let that light be thy guide, In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how evil becometh him to slide, Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.
Then farewell world, thy uttermost I see, Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me.


by Sir Philip Sidney | |

The Bargain

 MY true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 By just exchange one for another given: 
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven: 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true love hath my heart, and I have his.