So is it
not with me as with that muse,
Stirred by
a painted beauty to his verse,
Who heaven
it self for ornament doth use,
And every
fair with his fair doth rehearse,
Making a
couplement of proud compare
With sun
and moon, with earth and sea's rich gems:
With
April's first-born flowers and all things rare,
That
heaven's air in this huge rondure hems.
O let me
true in love but truly write,
And then believe
me, my love is as fair,
As any
mother's child, though not so bright
As those
gold candles fixed in heaven's air:
http://www.gutenberg.org/cache/epub/100/pg100.html
10
of 2260 18-04-2011 17:59
Let them
say more that like of hearsay well,
I will not
praise that purpose not to sell.
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