Come, let me write. 'And to what end?' To ease <br />A burthen'd heart. 'How can words ease, which are <br />The glasses of thy daily vexing care?' <br />Oft cruel fights well pictur'd forth do please. <br /> <br />'Art not asham'd to publish thy disease?' <br />Nay, that may breed my fame, it is so rare. <br />'But will not wise men think thy words fond ware?' <br />Then be they close, and so none shall displease. <br /> <br />'What idler thing than speak and not be heard?' <br />What harder thing than smart, and not to speak? <br />Peace, foolish wit, with wit my wit is marr'd. <br /> <br />Thus write I while I doubt to write, and wreak <br />My harms on ink's poor loss; perhaps some find <br />Stella's great powers, that so confuse my mind.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-34-come-let-me-write/
