Sonnet XIX: On Cupid's Bow
Sir Philip Sidney 1554 (Penshurst, Kent) – 1586 (Zutphen)
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."
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 37 sec read
- 96 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | ABBA ABBA CDC DEE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 632 |
Words | 125 |
Stanzas | 4 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 3, 3 |
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"Sonnet XIX: On Cupid's Bow" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 28 Apr. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/35360/sonnet-xix:-on-cupid's-bow>.
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