The Delia Sonnets

by Samuel Daniel


Like as the lute delights or else dislikes
  As is his art that plays upon the same,
  So sounds my Muse according as she strikes
  On my heart-strings high tuned unto her fame.
Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound,
  Which here I yield in lamentable wise,
  A wailing descant on the sweetest ground,
  Whose due reports give honour to her eyes;
Else harsh my style, untunable my Muse;
  Hoarse sounds the voice that praiseth not her name;
  If any pleasing relish here I use,
  Then judge the world her beauty gives the same.
For no ground else could make the music such,
Nor other hand could give so sweet a touch.

Next: Sonnet LV

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