Wherefore shall I write, whence only for thee –
She, inspiration of inspirations
Lest for thee, wherefore thine loving breath be –
She, Cupid’s victorious coronation
Thine words be fickle, neglectful of art
No more than musings, no less than flattery
For such labor is the language of heart –
For words are sold in love’s honest luxury
So lend thy time, and my love I shall wage
Sealed by a syllable of affection
With love – with thee – gracing thine mortal page
That man may speak of godly perfection
To thee I write, which words could never say
She, light of my night, Star of my day
