 | The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney |  |
A Farewell.
Oft have I musde, but now at length I finde,
Why those that die, men say they do depart:
Depart, a word so gentle to my minde,
Weakely did seeme to paint deaths ougly dart.
Why those that die, men say they do depart:
Depart, a word so gentle to my minde,
Weakely did seeme to paint deaths ougly dart.
But now the starres with their strange course do binde
Me one to leave, with whome I leave my hart.
I heare a crye of spirits faint and blinde,
That parting thus my chiefest part I part.
Me one to leave, with whome I leave my hart.
I heare a crye of spirits faint and blinde,
That parting thus my chiefest part I part.
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Part of my life, the loathed part to me,
Lives to impart my wearie clay some breath.
But that good part, wherein all comforts be,
Now dead, doth shew departure is a death,
Yea worse then death, death parts both woe and joy,
From joy I part still living in annoy.
Lives to impart my wearie clay some breath.
But that good part, wherein all comforts be,
Now dead, doth shew departure is a death,
Yea worse then death, death parts both woe and joy,
From joy I part still living in annoy.
| The Complete Works of Sir Philip Sidney | |