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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet 57: Woe, Having Made With Many Fights</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Woe, having made with many fights his own <br>Each sense of mine; each gift, each power of mind <br>Grown now his slaves, he forc'd them out to find <br>The thoroughest words, fit for Woe's self to groan, </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Hoping that when they might find Stella alone, <br>Before she could prepare to be unkind, <br>Her soul, arm'd but with such a dainty rind, <br>Should soon be pierc'd with sharpness of the moan.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">She heard my plaints, and did not only hear, <br>But them (so sweet is she) most sweetly sing, <br>With that fair breast making woe's darkness clear: </a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519404" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">A pretty case! I hoped her to bring <br>To feel my griefs, and she with face and voice <br>So sweets my pains, that my pains me rejoice.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Philip+Sidney">Philip Sidney</a></strong></div>

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