Astrophil and
Stella, Sonnet
97
Dian, that fain would cheer her friend the night,
Shows
her oft at the full her
fairest race,
Bringing
with her those starry
nymphs, whose chase
From heavenly standing hits each mortal wight.
But ah, poor night, in love with Phoebus’ light,
And endlessly despairing of his grace,
Herself
(to show no other joy hath
place)
Silent and sad, in mourning weeds doth dight:
Even so,
alas, a lady, Dian’s
peer,
With choice delights and rarest company
Would fain drive clouds from out my heavy cheer.
But woe is me, though joy itself were she,
She
could not show my blind brain
ways of joy,
While I
despair my sun’s sight to
enjoy.