Who is it that, this dark night, <br />Underneath my window plaineth? <br />It is one who from thy sight <br />Being, ah, exiled, disdaineth <br />Every other vulgar light. <br /> <br />Why, alas, and are you he? <br />Be not yet those fancies changeed? <br />Dear, when you find change in me, <br />Though from me you be estranged, <br />Let my change to ruin be. <br /> <br />Well, in absence this will die: <br />Leave to see, and leave to wonder. <br />Absence sure will help, if I <br />Can learn how myself to sunder <br />From what in my heart doth lie. <br /> <br />But time will these thoughts remove; <br />Time doth work what no man knoweth. <br />Time doth as the subject prove: <br />With time still the affection groweth <br />In the faithful turtle-dove. <br /> <br />What if you new beauties see? <br />Will not they stir new affection? <br />I will think they pictures be <br />(Image-like, of saints' perfection) <br />Poorly counterfeiting thee. <br /> <br />But your reason's purest light <br />Bids you leave such minds to nourish. <br />Dear, do reason no such spite! <br />Never doth thy beauty flourish <br />More than in my reason's sight.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/voices-at-the-window/
