Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust,And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things!Grow rich in that which never taketh rust:Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy mightTo that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light,That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.
Philip Sidney, The Poems of Sir Philip Sidney
growth, meaning, poetry