No want of conscience hold it that I call,
Her love, for whose dear love I rise and fall.
Be as thy presence is gracious and kind,
Or to thy self at least kind-hearted prove,
Make thee another self for love of me,
That beauty still may live in thine or thee.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate...
My love shall in my verse ever live young.
Which steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created...
O let me true in love but truly write...
More than that tongue that more hath more expressed.
O learn to read what silent love hath writ,
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.