Sonnet 104: Envious Wits

Envious wits, what hath been mine offense,
That with such poisonous care my looks you mark,
That to each word, nay sigh of mine you hark,
As grudging me my sorrow's eloquence?

Ah, is it not enough that I am thence?
Thence, so far thence, that scarcely any spark
Of comfort dare come to this dungeon dark,
Where rigorous exile locks up all my sense?

But if I by a happy window pass,
If I but stars upon mine armor bear
--Sick, thirsty, glad (though but of empty glass):

Your moral notes straight my hid meaning tear
From out my ribs, and puffing prove that I
Do Stella love. Fools, who doth it deny?

Sonnet 91: Stella While Now

Stella, while now by honor's cruel might,
I am from you, light of my life, mis-led,
And that fair you, my Sun, thus overspread
With absence' veil, I live in sorrow's night;

If this dark place yet show like candle light
Some beauty's piece, as amber-color'd head,
Milk hands, rose cheeks, or lips more sweet, more red,
Or seeing jet's black but in blackness bright.

They please, I do confess; they please mine eyes,
But why? Because of you they models be,
Models such be wood globes of glist'ring skies.

Dear, therefore be not jealous over me,
If you hear that they seem my heart to move.
Not them, oh no, but you in them I love.