Sonnet 33: I Might

By Sir Philip Sidney

I might!—unhappy word—O me, I might,

    And then would not, or could not, see my bliss;

    Till now wrapt in a most infernal night,

    I find how heav'nly day, wretch! I did miss.

    Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right;

    No lovely Paris made thy Helen his,

    No force, no fraud robb'd thee of thy delight,

    Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is;

    But to myself myself did give the blow,

  While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me

  That I respects for both our sakes must show:

  And yet could not by rising morn foresee

  How fair a day was near: O punish'd eyes,

  That I had been more foolish,—or more wise!