ASTROPHEL.
7
Dark as sorrow though night and morrow may lower
with presage of clouded fame,
How may she that of old bare thee, may Sidney's
England, be brought to shame?
How should this be, while England is? What need of
answer beyond thy name?
III.
From the light of the dawn of thy death,
The life of thy song and thy story
Took subtler and fierier breath.
And we, though the day and the morrow
Set fear and thanksgiving at strife,
Hail yet in the star of thy sorrow
The sun of thy life.
Shame and fear may beset men here, and bid
thanksgiving and pride be dumb:
