Sweet kiss, thy sweets I fain would sweetly endite,
Which even of sweetness sweetest sweet'ner art:
Pleasing'st consort, where each sense holds a part;
Which, coupling doves, guides Venus' chariot right;
Best charge, and bravest retreat in Cupid's fight,
A double key, which opens to the heart,
Most rich, when most his riches it impart;
Nest of young joys, schoolmaster of delight,
Teaching the mean at once to take and give;
The friendly fray, where blows both wound and heal,
The pretty death, while each in other live;
Poor hope's first wealth, hostage of promis'd weal,
Breakfast of love. But lo! lo, where she is.
Cease we to praise; now pray we for a kiss.
More verses by Sir Philip Sidney
- Sonnet 90: Stella, Think Not That I
- Sonnet 83: Good, Brother Philip
- Sonnet 85: I See The House
- Sonnet Xiv: Alas, Have I Not
- Sonnet Xiii: Phoebus Was Judge