Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend, <br />Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire, <br />Than did on him who first stole down the fire, <br />While Love on me doth all his quiver spend, <br /> <br />But with your rhubarb words you must contend, <br />To grieve me worse, in saying that desire <br />Doth plunge my well-form'd soul even in the mire <br />Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end? <br /> <br />If that be sin which doth the manners frame, <br />Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed, <br />Ready of wit and fearing nought but shame: <br /> <br />If that be sin which in fix'd hearts doth breed <br />A loathing of all loose unchastity, <br />Then love is sin, and let me sinful be.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xiv-alas-have-i-not/
