Oh joy, too high for my low style to show: <br />Oh bliss, fit for a nobler state than me: <br />Envy, put out thine eyes, lest thou do see <br />What oceans of delight in me do flow. <br /> <br />My friend, that oft saw through all masks my woe, <br />Come, come, and let me pour myself on thee; <br />Gone is the winter of my misery, <br />My spring appears, oh see what here doth grow. <br /> <br />For Stella hath with words where faith doth shine, <br />Of her high heart giv'n me the monarchy: <br />I, I, oh I may say that she is mine, <br /> <br />And though she give but thus condition'ly <br />This realm of bliss, while virtuous course I take, <br />No kings be crown'd, but they some covenants make.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-69-oh-joy-too-high-for-my-low-style/
