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William Shakespeare (1564–1616).  The Oxford Shakespeare: Poems.  1914.

Sonnet XXI.

“So is it not with me as with that Muse”


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,         5
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  10
As any mother’s child, though not so bright 
As those gold candles fix’d in heaven’s air: 
  Let them say more that like of hear-say well; 
  I will not praise that purpose not to sell. 


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