Sonnet I. Sad, all alone, not long I musing sat

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

SAD, all alone, not long I musing sat

But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire.

A laurel garland in my hand I gat,

So the Muses I approached the nigher.

My suit was this, A Poet to become;

To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed.

PHŒBUS denied; and sware, “There was no room

Such to be Poets as fond Fancy led.”

With that I mourned, and sat me down to weep.

VENUS she smiled, and smiling to me said,

“Come drink with me, and sit thee still and sleep!”

This voice I heard, and VENUS I obeyed.

That poison, Sweet, hath done me all this wrong;

For now of Love must needs be all my Song.