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Saturday Sonnet.

The Faerie stole human children and, according to myth, put changelings in their place. These children were supposedly beautiful, talented, traitorous and damned. They stole the love of their parents.

To Sydney, Stella could not be called this, though she stole his heart: his love was unrequited.

You that with Allegories curious frame
Of others children changelings vse to make,
With me those pains, for Gods sake, do not take:
I list not dig so deep for brazen fame,
When I say Stella I do meane the same
Princesse of beauty for whose only sake
The raines of Loue I loue, though neuer slake,
And ioy therein, though nations count it shame.
I beg no subiect to vse eloquence,
Nor in hid wayes to guide philosophy:
Looke at my hands for no such quintessence;
But know that I in pure simplicitie
Breathe out the flames which burn within my heart,
Loue onely reading vnto me this arte.

The flame in Sydney’s heart burns for but one person; Stella. Love is particular. it is not universal. It is not a orientation. It is for one person, licit or illicit. And with love, alwasys will come loss and mourning.

Sydney looked at this, knew this, and loved nonetheless, but he was from a sterner age. We have from that height fallen.

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