Of skill in life no rumor has he heard
That there is strength in femininity
Whose value lies not alone in birth,
Nor time declines true passions and beauty.
Too full of self-same love of craft, his pen
Doth ink landscapes, art, and life with fury
So danger approaching they forgotten
Not be, but fore’er pers’nal legacy.
This pen yet sighing for lovers comp’ny
Tortures spirit with cruel imaginings,
Pictures of time not in proximity,
While in presence dotes in ard’rous loving.
Since love and fear travel never apart,
Then too much of either betrays the heart.
This is the best Sonnett: