Sir Philip Sidney

Astrophel and Stella: III

Let dainty wits cry on the sisters nine,
   That, bravely mask’d, their fancies may be told;
   Or, Pindar’s apes, flaunt they in phrases fine,
   Enam’ling with pied flowers their thoughts of gold.
   Or else let them in statelier glory shine,
   Ennobling newfound tropes with problems old;
   Or with strange similes enrich each line,
   Of herbs or beasts which Ind or Afric hold.
   For me, in sooth, no Muse but one I know;
  Phrases and problems from my reach do grow,
  And strange things cost too dear for my poor sprites.
  How then? even thus: in Stella’s face I read
  What love and beauty be; then all my deed
  But copying is, what in her Nature writes.
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