I might, unhappy word
Philip Sidney
I might, unhappy word, O me, I might,
And then would not, or could not see my bliss:
Till now, wrapt in a most infernal night,
I find how heavnly day wretch I did miss.
Heart rent thyself, thou doest thyself but right,
No lovely Paris made thy Helen his:
No force, no fraud, robbd thee of thy delight,
Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is:
But to myself myself did give the blow,
While too much wit (forsooth) so troubled me,
That I respects for both our sakes must show:
And yet could not by rising morn foresee
How fair a day was near, O punisht eyes,
That I had been more foolish or more wise.
Astrophil and Stella [33]
