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 62

Late tired with woe, even ready for to pine,
With rage of love, I called my love unkind;
She in whose eyes love, though unfelt, doth shine,
Sweet said that I true love in her should find.
I joyed, but straight thus watered was my wine,
That love she did, but loved a love not blind,
Which would not let me, whom she loved, decline
From nobler course, fit for my birth and mind:
And therefore by her love’s authority,
Willed me these tempests of vain love to fly,
And anchor fast myself on virtue’s shore.
Alas, if this the only metal be
Of Love, new-coined to help my beggary,
Dear, love me not, that you may love me more.

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 notes: As usual, “even” in line 1 is a single syllable. The word “fly” in line 10, for Sidney, would have rhymed with “be” and the final syllable of “authority” and “beggary,” but this need only be noted mentally in modern reading.

This is a companion sonnet to the previous one, and we might borrow Wordsworth’s title “The Tables Turned” for at least its final line, where the paradox that ended Sonnet 61 is reversed.

Like Sonnet 61, there is an “extroverted” rhyme scheme in the octave, and here the near-rhymes of the A’s and B’s reflects two “loves” that also sound alike but aren’t. Line 4, at first blush, sounds as if it might be the breakthrough moment we have waited for throughout the sequence: Stella sweetly says she DOES love me after all!

The joyful response lasts for exactly two words, or two syllables, or one brief foot, before the other shoe begins to drop, beginning with a teaser metaphor of watered wine. It turns out she has a sincere, pure, Platonic love for the speaker—not the “blind,” passionate love of Cupid, but the heavenly kind that sees clearly by the light of reason. And in the spirit of love, she wishes him to be as perfect as he can be, and as his pedigree (“birth”) and talents (“mind”) promise for him. The first tercet of the sestet continues the main idea of the sonnet by giving the clear implication of this special “love’s authority”: as in Sonnet 61, she shows her form of love by urging him to abandon his.

The fulcrum comes after line 11, as the final three lines give the speaker’s response. Setting it up with the metaphor of love as a “metal” from which improving ideas are “coined,” he says that if that’s the way it has to be, he wishes she would stop “loving” him that way, so that she could “love” him the other way. The two words “love” in the final line obviously mean two different things, and the meaning of the word has in fact been subtly shifting all through the poem, especially in line 6, where the meaning shifts over from his to hers, and here at the end, where it shifts back, referring at the end to the passionate relationship the speaker would like to have.

Next time (weekend of November 28): Sonnet 63
Jonathan Smith is Professor of English at Hanover College, Hanover, Indiana.

Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 19

On Cupid’s bow how are my heartstrings bent,
That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same!
When most I glory, then I feel most shame:
I willing run, yet while I run, repent.
My best wits still their own disgrace invent;
My very ink turns straight to Stella’s name;
And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame,
Advise themselves that they are vainly spent.
For though she pass all things, yet what is all
That unto me, who fare like him that both
Looks to the skies, and in a ditch doth fall?
O let me prop my mind, yet in his growth,
And not in Nature, for best fruits unfit:
“Scholar,” saith Love, “bend hitherward your wit.”

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 sonnet describes a sort of growing love-madness in the speaker, as reflected in the disorderly line break between lines 9 and 10—unusually “modern” for Sidney—in which the closely connected noun phrase “all that” is snapped right in the middle, so that even the slight acknowledgement that the end of an enjambed line customarily receives is impossible here; the break after line 10 is only barely more natural, and all three lines of the tercet have caesuras, so, as the soon-to-be-mad Hamlet might observe here, “the time is out of joint.”  As it happens, the simile of that tercet is taken from Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale, at the moment when the scholar Nicholas is feigning madness in preparation for his plot to sleep with the Carpenter John’s lovely young wife (a silly story which, for some reason, might be much on Sidney’s mind these days!).  The foolish carpenter, in his sincere concern for his lodger’s obsession with astrology, recalls a similar case:

So ferde another clerk with astromye;
He walked in the feeldes, for to prye
Upon the sterres, what ther sholde befalle,
Til he was in a marle-pit yfalle;
He saugh nat that.

Our “scholar” seems to be relating more to that clerk than to the successful Nicholas.*

While the opening line of the poem seems at first glance to suggest the speaker’s heartstrings are being used to string Cupid’s bow, this clever word-play is misleading. More logically, “bent” here means “inclined toward” or “aimed at,” the same as the verb at the end of line 12 in the previous sonnet. So his “heartstrings” are pulled toward Cupid’s bow, even as he knows that ruin (“wrack”) that way lies. (Compare Shakespeare’s couplet on lust, Sonnet 129: All this the world well knows, yet none knows well/To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.) This paradox is extended with the parallel paradoxes of lines 3 and 4.

Line 5 repeats the idea expressed in lines 10-11 of sonnet 18:

My wit doth strive those passions to defend
Which for reward spoil it with vain annoys.

That is, the speaker’s best thinking is going into a fool’s errand that pays off only negatively. From the second quatrain here, it is now quite obvious that Sidney refers to the writing of the sonnet sequence itself, and the tendency of the sonnets to bring him shame, even as they help him explore both his passion and his shame: “[the words of the poems] Advise themselves that they are vainly spent.”

The first half of the sestet, as discussed above, takes us back to the classic Chaucerian image of star-gazing and embarrassing futility as the only result. But the final tercet returns to the same mulish determination of the speaker to court his own ruin, expressed here in imagery drawn from Renaissance formal gardening: the speaker’s “mind” (and remember, that word encompasses the soul as well as the intellect) is treated as a fruit tree in such a garden; it could have grown naturally, but instead the speaker asks that it be “propped” (i.e., staked) and thus forced to grow in an unnatural direction, for decorative but “fruitless” purposes (my double meaning is quite intentional). Just so the speaker’s “wit” and learning are unnaturally bent toward Love (the repeated verb signals that the poem ends right where it started), with a similarly fruitless result. Notice that the final line of this poem is a faded echo of the final line of Sonnet 1, with most of the drive and optimism already drained out.

* As Duncan-Jones points out, Sidney (and probably Chaucer also) had in mind a commonplace anecdote about Thales of Miletus, an ancient Greek philosopher, mathematician, and astronomer. Sidney makes the same allusion in the Defence of Poesy (Duncan-Jones 219).

Next time (weekend of April 5): Sonnet 20

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