Saturday Sonnet.

The problem here is Sydney is not considering the woman whom he loves but some imagined, ideal of feminine virtue. This is at best infatuation: for love acknowledges the faults of the beloved and chooses to love regardless, be it our spouse, our children or our nation.

This week. I dislike small planes. Duty called, though.
When my good Angell guides me to the place
Where all my good I doe in Stella see,
That heau'n of ioyes throwes onely downe on me
Thundring disdaines and lightnings of disgrace;
But when the ruggedst step of Fortunes race
Makes me fall from her sight, then sweetly she,
With words wherein the Muses treasures be,
Shewes loue and pitie to my absent case.
Now I, wit-beaten long by hardest fate,
So dull am, that I cannot looke into
The ground of this fierce loue and louely hate.
Then, some good body, tell me how I do,
Whose presence absence, absence presence is;
Blest in my curse, and cursed in my blisse.  
Sir Philip Sydney      

If one is sitting alone thinking of the person in your imagination it is somewhat easier than dealing with the real person. But it is not real. It is the fever'd dream: it is the fault of the shut in thinking of their waifu. You have to the courage to love, and lose to finally make your beloved a spouse. Sydney eventually did this. And we should accept this as him working the love for Stella out of his system, for no wife should tolerate another.

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