A speaker sits alone, wanting to write about love. Immediately, a quarrel breaks out inside him. Love urges him on, but Reason yanks him back, boasting that she alone directs his pen; without her, Love could not compose a word. Love bristles at Reason’s arrogant, half-baked argument and points out that Reason has never kept company with Love. Reason, stung by this snub, sneers at Love’s folly, while Love scoffs that Reason’s logic is far too lightweight. In the end, Reason slips out of sight, beaten. Love, now unchecked, stays and draws a new, truer reason straight from the feeling of love itself. The speaker, caught in the middle, seems almost a spectator to this inner skirmish, but the final line suggests a quiet relief as feeling triumphs. The mood is playful and courtly, like a witty debate that ends not with a shout but with a knowing smile, as the heart quietly overrules the head.
Sonnet XXXVIII: Sitting Alone, Love — Summary
Sitting alone, Love bids me go and write; Reason plucks back, commanding me to stay, Boasting that she doth still direct the way, Or else Love were unable to endite. Love, growing angry, vexed at the spleen And scorning Reason's maimed argument, Straight taxeth Reason, wanting to invent, Where she with Love conversing hath not been. Reason, reproached with this coy disdain, Despiteth Love, and laugheth at her folly; And Love, condemning Reason's reason wholly, Thought it in weight too light by many'a grain. Reason, put back, doth out of sight remove, And Love alone picks reason out of love.