She comes, and straight therewith her shining twins do move
Their rays to me, who in her tedious absence lay
Benighted in cold woe; but now appears my day,
The only light of joy, the only warmth of love.
She comes, with light and warmth, which like Aurora prove
Of gentle force, so that mine eyes dare gladly play
With such a rosy morn, whose beams most freshly gay
Scorch not, but only do dark chilling sprites remove.
But lo, while I do speak, it groweth noon with me;
Her flamy glistering lights increase with time and place;
My heart cries, ‘Ah, it burns’; mine eyes now dazzled be;
No wind, no shade can cool; what help then in my case,
But with short breath, long looks, staid feet and walking head,
Pray that my sun go down with meeker beams to bed.
I suggest you click here to open the sonnet in a separate window, so that you can refer directly to it as you read on through the analysis.
Reading note: “glistering” in line 10 is elided to two syllables.
At this point in the sequence, we have two of the six sonnets written in hexameters. In this one, five of the eight lines in the octave are also enjambed, so we get a particularly leisurely stroll through ideas the speaker likes to entertain, especially in the poem’s second quatrain. For, despite Stella’s angry reaction to the stolen kiss, the effect on the speaker seems to be a heightened imagination of what might be.
The first quatrain, featuring Stella’s now-familiar eyes (“shining twins”), is a fairly straightforward statement of a plot-fact, Stella’s arrival to turn the speaker’s night to day. This is restated as a frictionless thought in the second quatrain. Here, Stella is the dawn (“Aurora”) who not only brings “light” into his life, but does it with gentleness, removing all the “chilling sprites” of night.
But this figurative language has implications or consequences; the light of a cool dawn must turn into the noon-time heat of day, i.e., the passion which Stella’s presence inspires in the speaker, as announced in line 11. So the final tercet seeks a solution to this excessive heat. In a line (13) that recalls the “throes” of Sonnet 1, Sidney wonderfully captures the situation of a man in such a state, with a pair of antitheses: as his looks grow longer, his breath grows shorter, and as his feet are rooted, his mind wanders off to another place. Finishing the conceit of a sun’s journey through the day, he envisions—nay, “pray[s] that”—a “meeker” (or more yielding) love might go to bed, a perfectly innocent gesture for the sun, but with obvious sexual suggestion for Stella.
Next time (weekend of June 12): Sonnet 77
Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.