Alas my hart, mine eye hath wrongèd thee, <br />Presumptious eye, to gaze on Phillis face: <br />Whose heavenly eye no mortall man may see <br />But he must die, or purchase Phillis grace. <br /> Poor Coridon, the Nimph whose eye doth moove thee, <br /> Dooth love to draw, but is not drawne to love thee. <br /> <br /> <br />Her beautie, Nature's pride, and sheepheards praise, <br />Her eye, the heavenly Planet of my life: <br />Her matchlesse wit and grace, her fame displaies, <br />As if that love had made her for his wife. <br /> Onely, her eyes shoote fierie darts to kill, <br /> Yet is her hart as cold as Caucase hill. <br /> <br /> <br />My wings too weake to flye against the Sunne, <br />Mine eyes unable to sustaine her light, <br />My hart doth yeeld that I am quite undone, <br />Thus hath faire Phillis slaine me with her sight. <br /> My bud is blasted, withred is my leafe <br /> And all my corne is rotted in the sheafe. <br /> <br /> <br />Phillis, the golden fetter of my minde, <br />My fancie's Idoll, and my vitall power: <br />Goddesse of Nimphs, and honour of thy kinde, <br />This Age's Phoenix, Beautie's richest bower. <br /> Poore Coridon for love of thee must die: <br /> Thy beautie's thrall and conquest of thine eye. <br /> <br /> <br />Leave Coridon to plough the barren field, <br />Thy buds of hope are blasted with disgrace: <br />For Phillis' lookes no harty love doo yeeld, <br />Nor can she love, for all her lovely face. <br /> Die Coridon, the spoile of Phillis' eye: <br /> She cannot love, and therefore thou must die. <br /> <br /> <br />Finis.<br /><br />Sir Edward Dyer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/coridon-to-his-phillis/
