So is it not with me as with that Muse Stirr'd by a painted beauty to his verse, Who heaven itself 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 fix'd in heaven's air: Let them say more than like of hearsay well; I will not praise that purpose not to sell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIS MISTRESS OBJECTING TO HIM NEITHER TOYING OR TALKING by ROBERT HERRICK TO FINE LADY WOULD-BE by BEN JONSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CONVENT THRESHOLD by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI CRY WOE, WOE, AND LET THE GOOD PREVAIL, FR. AGAMEMNON by AESCHYLUS A CHARACTER by CHARLOTTE FISKE BATES |