Fly, fly, my friends, I have my death wound, fly! <br /> See there that boy, that murd'ring boy, I say, <br /> Who, like a thief, hid in dark bush doth lie <br /> Till bloody bullet get him wrongful prey. <br /> So tyrant he no fitter place could spy, <br /> Nor so fair level in so secret stay, <br /> As that sweet black which veils the heav'nly eye; <br /> There himself with his shot he close doth lay. <br /> Poor passenger, pass now thereby I did, <br /> And stay'd, pleas'd with the prospect of the place, <br /> While that black hue from me the bad guest hid; <br /> But straight I saw motions of lightning grace <br /> And then descried the glist'ring of his dart: <br /> But ere I could fly thence it pierc'd my heart.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/astrophel-and-stella-xx/
