Fie, school of Patience, fie! your lesson is
Far, far too long to learn it without book:
What, a whole week without one piece of look,
And think I should not your large precepts miss?
When I might read those letters fair of bliss,
Which in her face teach virtue, I could brook
Somewhat thy leaden counsels, which I took
As of a friend that meant not much amiss:
But now that I, alas, do want her sight,
What, dost thou think that I can ever take
In thy cold stuff a phlegmatic delight?
No, Patience, if thou wilt my good, then make
Her come, and hear with patience my desire,
And then with patience bid me bear my fire.
More verses by Sir Philip Sidney
- Sonnet 108: When Sorrow
- Splendidis Longum Valedico Nugis
- Sonnet V: It Is Most True
- Sonnet Lxiv: No More, My Dear
- Sonnet X: Reason