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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.

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Written by T S (Thomas Stearns) Eliot | Create an image from this poem

A Cooking Egg

 En l’an trentiesme do mon aage
Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beues.
.
.
PIPIT sate upright in her chair Some distance from where I was sitting; Views of the Oxford Colleges Lay on the table, with the knitting.
Daguerreotypes and silhouettes, Here grandfather and great great aunts, Supported on the mantelpiece An Invitation to the Dance.
.
.
.
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I shall not want Honour in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Philip Sidney And have talk with Coriolanus And other heroes of that kidney.
I shall not want Capital in Heaven For I shall meet Sir Alfred Mond.
We two shall lie together, lapt In a five per cent.
Exchequer Bond.
I shall not want Society in Heaven, Lucretia Borgia shall be my Bride; Her anecdotes will be more amusing Than Pipit’s experience could provide.
I shall not want Pipit in Heaven: Madame Blavatsky will instruct me In the Seven Sacred Trances; Piccarda de Donati will conduct me.
.
.
.
.
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But where is the penny world I bought To eat with Pipit behind the screen? The red-eyed scavengers are creeping From Kentish Town and Golder’s Green; Where are the eagles and the trumpets? Buried beneath some snow-deep Alps.
Over buttered scones and crumpets Weeping, weeping multitudes Droop in a hundred A.
B.
C.
’s.
Written by Vachel Lindsay | Create an image from this poem

The Knight in Disguise

 [Concerning O.
Henry (Sidney Porter)] "He could not forget that he was a Sidney.
" Is this Sir Philip Sidney, this loud clown, The darling of the glad and gaping town? This is that dubious hero of the press Whose slangy tongue and insolent address Were spiced to rouse on Sunday afternoon The man with yellow journals round him strewn.
We laughed and dozed, then roused and read again, And vowed O.
Henry funniest of men.
He always worked a triple-hinged surprise To end the scene and make one rub his eyes.
He comes with vaudeville, with stare and leer.
He comes with megaphone and specious cheer.
His troupe, too fat or short or long or lean, Step from the pages of the magazine With slapstick or sombrero or with cane: The rube, the cowboy or the masher vain.
They over-act each part.
But at the height Of banter and of canter and delight The masks fall off for one queer instant there And show real faces: faces full of care And desperate longing: love that's hot or cold; And subtle thoughts, and countenances bold.
The masks go back.
'Tis one more joke.
Laugh on! The goodly grown-up company is gone.
No doubt had he occasion to address The brilliant court of purple-clad Queen Bess, He would have wrought for them the best he knew And led more loftily his actor-crew.
How coolly he misquoted.
'Twas his art — Slave-scholar, who misquoted — from the heart.
So when we slapped his back with friendly roar Æsop awaited him without the door, — Æsop the Greek, who made dull masters laugh With little tales of fox and dog and calf .
And be it said, mid these his pranks so odd With something nigh to chivalry he trod And oft the drear and driven would defend — The little shopgirls' knight unto the end.
Yea, he had passed, ere we could understand The blade of Sidney glimmered in his hand.
Yea, ere we knew, Sir Philip's sword was drawn With valiant cut and thrust, and he was gone.
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet XIX: On Cupids Bow

 On Cupid's bow how are my heartstrings bent, 
That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same? 
When most I glory, then I feel most shame: 
I willing run, yet while I run, repent.
My best wits still their own disgrace invent: My very ink turns straight to Stella's name; And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame, Avise themselves that they are vainly spent.
For though she pass all things, yet what is all That unto me, who fare like him that both Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall? Oh let me prop my mind, yet in his growth, And not in Nature, for best fruits unfit: "Scholar," saith Love, "bend hitherward your wit.
"
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

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.
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

Ring Out Your Bells

 Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread;
For Love is dead--
All love is dead, infected
With plague of deep disdain;
Worth, as nought worth, rejected,
And Faith fair scorn doth gain.
From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it said That Love is dead? His death-bed, peacock's folly; His winding-sheet is shame; His will, false-seeming holy; His sole exec'tor, blame.
From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Let dirge be sung and trentals rightly read, For Love is dead; Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth My mistress' marble heart, Which epitaph containeth, "Her eyes were once his dart.
" From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Alas, I lie, rage hath this error bred; Love is not dead; Love is not dead, but sleepeth In her unmatched mind, Where she his counsel keepeth, Till due desert she find.
Therefore from so vile fancy, To call such wit a franzy, Who Love can temper thus, Good Lord, deliver us!
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet VI: Some Lovers Speak

 Some lovers speak when they their Muses entertain, 
Of hopes begot by fear, of wot not what desires: 
Of force of heav'nly beams, infusing hellish pain: 
Of living deaths, dear wounds, fair storms, and freezing fires.
Some one his song in Jove, and Jove's strange tales attires, Broidered with bulls and swans, powdered with golden rain; Another humbler wit to shepherd's pipe retires, Yet hiding royal blood full oft in rural vein.
To some a sweetest plaint a sweetest style affords, While tears pour out his ink, and sighs breathe out his words: His paper pale despair, and pain his pen doth move.
I can speak what I feel, and feel as much as they, But think that all the map of my state I display, When trembling voice brings forth that I do Stella love.
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

Sonnet I: Loving In Truth

 Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, 
That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain: 
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, 
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain; 

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, 
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain: 
Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow 
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay, Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seem'd but strangers in my way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite-- "Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write.
"
Written by Sir Philip Sidney | Create an image from this poem

Sir Philip Sidney - Astrophel and Stella: XXIII

 The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness
Bewray itself in my long-settl'd eyes,
Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise,
With idle pains and missing aim do guess.
Some, that know how my spring I did address, Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies; Others, because the prince my service tries, Think that I think state errors to redress; But harder judges judge ambition's rage-- Scourge of itself, still climbing slipp'ry place-- Holds my young brain captiv'd in golden cage.
O fool or over-wise! alas, the race Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart.
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