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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519484" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XXXIII: I Might</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=519484" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I might!--unhappy word--O me, I might,<br>And then would not, or could not, see my bliss;<br>Till now wrapt in a most infernal night,<br>I find how heav'nly day, wretch! I did miss.<br>Heart, rend thyself, thou dost thyself but right;<br>No lovely Paris made thy Helen his,<br>No force, no fraud robb'd thee of thy delight,<br>Nor Fortune of thy fortune author is;<br>But to myself myself did give the blow,<br>While too much wit, forsooth, so troubled me<br>That I respects for both our sakes must show:<br>And yet could not by rising morn foresee<br>How fair a day was near: O punish'd eyes,<br>That I had been more foolish,--or more wise!</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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