Sonnet VII. Behold what hap Pygmalion had, to frame

Samuel Daniel (1562–1619)

BEHOLD what hap PYGMALION had, to frame

And carve his grief himself upon a stone:

My heavy fortune is much like the same,

I work on flint, and that’s the cause I moan.

For hapless lo even with mine own desires,

I figured on the table of my heart;

The goodliest shape that the world’s eye admires:

And so did perish by my proper art.

And still I toil to change the marble breast

Of her whose sweet Idea I adore:

Yet cannot find her breathe unto my rest.

Hard is her heart, and woe is me therefore.

O blessed he that joys his stone and art!

Unhappy I! to love a stony heart.