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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONNET: 3 by PHILIP SIDNEY

Poet Analysis

First Line: THE FIRE TO SEE MY WRONGS FOR ANGER BURNETH
Last Line: THOUGH I BE HERS, SHE MAKES OF ME NO TREASURE.
The fire to see my wrongs for anger burneth;
The air in rain for my affliction weepeth;
The sea to ebb for grief his flowing turneth;
The earth with pity dull the centre keepeth;
Fame is with wonder blazed;
Time runs away for sorrow;
Place standeth still amazed,
To see my night of evils, which hath no morrow.
Alas, all only she no pity taketh
To know my miseries, but, chaste and cruel.
My fall her glory maketh:
Yet still her eyes give to my flames their fuel.

Fire, burn me quite, till sense of burning leave me;
Air, let me draw no more thy breath in anguish;
Sea, drowned in thee, of tedious life bereave me;
Earth, take this earth, wherein my spirits languish.
Fame, say I was not born,
Time, haste my dying hour;
Place, see my grave uptorn;
Fire, air, sea, earth, fame, time, place, show your power.
Alas, from all their helps I am exiled;
For hers am I, and death fears her displeasure.
Fie, death, thou art beguiled;
Though I be hers, she makes of me no treasure.




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