With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! <br />How silently, and with how wan a face! <br />What! may it be that even in heavenly place <br />That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? <br />Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes <br />Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case: <br />I read it in thy looks; thy languished grace, <br />To me that feel the like, thy state descries. <br />Then even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, <br />Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? <br />Are beauties there as proud as here they be? <br />Do they above love to be loved, and yet <br />Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? <br />Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/astrophel-and-stella-sonnet-xxxi/
