Sitting alone, Love bids me go and write; <br />Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay, <br />Boasting that she doth still direct the way, <br />Or else Love were unable to endite. <br />Love, growing angry, vexed at the spleen <br />And scorning Reason's maimed argument, <br />Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent, <br />Where she with Love conversing hath not been. <br />Reason, reproached with this coy disdain, <br />Despiteth Love, and laugheth at her folly; <br />And Love, condemning Reason's reason wholly, <br />Thought it in weight too light by many'a grain. <br />Reason, put back, doth out of sight remove, <br />And Love alone picks reason out of love.<br /><br />Michael Drayton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xxxviii-sitting-alone-love/
