Philip Sidney

I might (unhappy word), O me, I might
And then would not, or could not, see my bliss:
Till now, wrapped in a most infernal night,
I find how heav'nly day, wretch, I did miss.
   Heart, rent thyself, thou dost thyself but right;
No lovely Paris made thy Helen his;
No force, no fraud, robbed 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 punished eyes,
   That I had been more foolish, or more wise!