Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 99

When far spent night persuades each mortal eye,
To whom nor art nor nature granteth light,
To lay his then mark-wanting shafts of sight,
Closed with their quivers, in sleep’s armoury;
With windows ope then most my mind doth lie,
Viewing the shape of darkness and delight,
Takes in that sad hue, which with the inward night
Of his mazed powers keeps perfect harmony.
But when birds charm, and that sweet air, which is
Morn’s messenger, with rose-enameled skies,
Calls each wight to salute the flower of bliss:
In tomb of lids then buried are mine eyes,
Forced by their lord, who is ashamed to find
Such light in sense, with such a darkened mind.

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: in the phrase “mazed powers” (line 8) each word is a single syllable, and since “mazed” is a bit of a mouthful for an unstressed syllable, we should slow down for a spondee in that foot.

This poem is an elaboration on the final three lines of the previous one, with night and dawn here more neatly and evenly divided between octave and sestet. In the octave the conceit of “darting” eyes—eyes as arrows—so often applied to Stella in this sonnet sequence, is used more generically for all mortals looking about. Since these arrows (“shafts”) lack a target (“want” a “mark”) when all is dark, they should be locked up in the “armoury” of sleep. But, as he said in the previous sonnet, the speaker has got it backwards. His eyes are “windows” rather than arrows, and he keeps them open to the night because its darkness is in “perfect harmony” with his own “inward night” of melancholic thoughts. The “mazeful solitariness” of Sonnet 96 returns as “mazed powers” here, with the same double meaning.

With the fulcrum—in the conventional place, after the octave—dawn comes, and again the speaker has it backwards, as he indicated in the final lines of the previous sonnet. In a more leisurely full sestet, he spells out for three lines the “normal” response to the dawn (“each wight” is called “to salute the flower of bliss”); and for the final three lines, his own perverse behavior: to at last close his eyes, blocking the light to his “darkened mind.” (In the final line, “sense,” as in the sense of sight, is the antithesis of “mind.”) Thus ends what we might understand as a single night of misery spread out over the last four sonnets.

Next time (weekend of April 29): Sonnet 100
Jonathan Smith is Emeritus Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.  

Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 81

O kiss, which dost those ruddy gems impart,
Or gems, or fruits of new-found Paradise,
Breathing all bliss, and sweetening to the heart,
Teaching dumb lips a nobler exercise;
O kiss, which souls, even souls, together ties
By links of love, and only nature’s art:
How fain would I paint thee to all men’s eyes,
Or of thy gifts at least shade out some part.
But she forbids; with blushing words, she says
She builds her fame on higher-seated praise;
But my heart burns, I cannot silent be.
Then since (dear life) you fain would have me peace,
And I, mad with delight, want wit to cease,
Stop you my mouth with still, still kissing me.

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.

Like Sonnet 79, this one begins as an apostrophe to a kiss, the topic that has preoccupied our poet for a while. As if to compensate for the structural departure in 79, this one has rock-solid conventional Italian sonnet structure, with a full stop after line 8, and the pivotal “But” to start line 9.*

Furthermore, Sidney’s own favorite two-part sestet form receives special emphasis, with two carefully paralleled three-line sentences, rhymed CCD EED. In the first, the “camera” is on Stella for two lines, and then shifts to the speaker for the third; in the second, it stays on the speaker for two lines, and then shifts back to Stella. The CC and EE couplets are linked by consonance in the rhymes, and a But/Then contrast between what Stella does do and what the speaker would like her to do. And in the two “D” lines, “heart” and “mouth” are antitheses, while the subject of silence occupies the final three feet of each line.

Assuming a similar parallelism in the two quatrains of the octave is instructive. While the “nobler exercise” taught by the kiss might remain vague in isolation, it becomes clear from lines 7-8 that it refers to the artistic challenge of capturing Stella’s “gifts” in poetry. The painting metaphor here is the same as in Sonnets 1 and 2 (and see also Sonnets 70, 93, and 98); to “shade out” is a step beyond sketching out, so the point is he would like to “paint” her, or “at least” capture her essence in the shaded sketch. The octave also employs auxesis in building a process that looks back to Plato and forward to Wordsworth, in which the external encounter with beauty triggers a sympathetic reaction (“all bliss and sweetening”) in the heart, leading in turn to poetic inspiration and the sharing of beauty with “all men.”

But. The speaker has taken his best shot at idealizing the outcome of an illicit kiss, but the big “But” at the poem’s swivel point announces that the virtuous Stella is having none of it. “She builds her fame in higher-seated praise” implies that it is the virtuous soul, not the gorgeous flesh, that she would like to be remembered for. The conflict between her aspirations and his is familiar to all readers of the whole sequence.

So, thwarted in his frontal attempt to bestow honor on kissing, the speaker must now stoop to a clever (or so he hopes) ploy instead: if she would keep him from singing her praise, she must stop his mouth—with kissing! (as Beatrice tells her cousin Hero to do in Much Ado, to keep Claudio from speaking). The repeated “still” in the last line, sometimes printed with no comma between, could be thus understood as stretching the moment through sheer repetition, as in the phrase “for ever and ever.” But given Sidney’s fondness for antanaclasis, in which the sense of the repeated word changes a bit, a better reading might be that, while the second “still” is the common adverb, the first is a spoken “still” (as in “be still”) by Stella, to make him hold his peace. Again in Shakespeare’s Much Ado, Verges comes to mind, telling the watch to bid the nurse to “still” a crying child. In any case, the noble Platonic sentiment of the octave has been reduced by Stella’s stout virtue to a puerile gambit at the end.

*Somewhat paradoxically, the oddly-shaped 79 (as noted there) has Sidney’s most common rhyme scheme, while this very conventionally shaped one has the rare rhyme scheme (used just three times in the whole sequence) of ABABBABACCDEED; the palindromic octave is the unusual element.

Next time (weekend of August 21): Sonnet 82
Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.

Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 12

Cupid, because thou shin’st in Stella’s eyes,
That from her locks, thy day-nets, none ‘scapes free,
That those lips swell, so full of thee they be,
That her sweet breath makes oft thy flames to rise,
That in her breast thy pap well sugared lies,
That her grace gracious makes thy wrongs, that she,
What words so e’er she speaks, persuades for thee,
That her clear voice lifts thy fame to the skies;
Thou countest Stella thine, like those whose powers,
Having got up a breach by fighting well,
Cry, “Victory, this fair day all is ours!”
O no, her heart is such a citadel,
So fortified with wit, stored with disdain,
That to win it, is all the skill and pain.

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.

This poem is just two sentences long, the first stating a premise that takes eleven lines, and the second shooting it down in a mere three. The octave is one dependent clause comprised, in turn, of eight parallel clauses. The word “that” effectively repeats the word “because” each time, so you can either imagine an implied “because that” (proper Elizabethan usage) in the first line, or a one-syllable substitute for “because” at the head of each new clause—whichever makes more sense to you. The eight parallel clauses are basically one line (five feet, ten syllables) each, except that the first is shortened a foot by the opening address to Cupid, and the seventh steals an extra foot from the end of the sixth:

that she,
What words so e’er she speaks, persuades for thee.
The sentence’s main clause takes only the first three-fifths of line nine:

Thou countest Stella thine,

and is followed by an adverbial phrase that stretches to the end of line eleven:

like those whose powers,
Having got up a breach by fighting well,
Cry, “Victory, this fair day all is ours!”

The eight parallel clauses are eight separate reasons why Cupid might assume Stella belongs to him (i.e., is a disciple of love, but we can’t ignore the secondary sense of Cupid’s paramour), all using some form of the thee/her antithesis:

  1. “thou shin’st” : “[her] eyes”
  2. “thy day-nets” : “her locks” (Day-nets are traps, and Stella’s hair functions as Cupid’s trap for the unsuspecting.)
  3. “full of thee” : “her lips” (meant for kissing)
  4. “thy flames” : “her sweet breath” (which fans the flames of passion)
  5. “thy pap” is what “her breast” contains
  6. “thy wrongs” : “her grace” (makes gracious; i.e., her love and devotion makes even Cupid’s sins O.K.)
  7. “for thee” : “[her] words” (persuades)
  8. “thy fame” : “her clear voice” (lifts to the skies, and this line can summarize the implication of all eight: when a man converses with Stella, Cupid immediately comes to his mind, and he falls in love).

These statements about Cupid’s suppositions become, by indirection, a complimentary blazon of Stella’s features, and Cupid is clearly a stand-in here for the speaker’s own amorous desires. A very rough paraphrase of the poem, read that way, might be: (first eleven lines) “Sometimes I fantasize that Stella might be my lover,” (last three lines) “but then I come back to the reality that I’m not even close.”

But I’ve gotten ahead of myself. So, we are to understand that Stella is just going on being her lovely, charming, and gracious self and Cupid, like many another egotistical male, assumes it is all for him. After the main clause (“Thou countest Stella thine”) comes a simile which governs the rest of the poem: in Cupid’s confidence, he is like an army which assumes it has won the battle when it has only breached an outer wall. Anyone familiar with medieval fortifications knows that inside the outer wall are progressively stronger lines of defense, the strongest of all being the “keep” or “citadel” in the center, often with walls twenty feet thick. “Such a citadel” is Stella’s heart, and its walls are two of the qualities omitted from the list in the octave: wit and disdain. In the final line, the verb “is” should be understood as “remains;” “skill,” in the military context, would be the strategy or arrangement of forces, and “pain” is effort (as in our modern phrase “take pains to . . .”). So, in short, despite the breach in the wall and shout of victory, practically the whole job remains to be done.

The sonnet implies quite a bit about the relationship between the speaker and Stella. She presumably treats him with charm, grace, and even affection, but is cold to any suggestion that the relationship could be something more.

Next time (weekend of December 28): Sonnet 13

Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.