Poem by Giles Fletcher the Elder

Licia Sonnets 47

Like Memnon's rock, touched with the rising sun
Which yields a sound and echoes forth a voice,
But when it's drowned in western seas is done,
And drowsy-like leaves off to make a noise;
So I, my love, enlightened with your shine,
A poet's skill within my soul I shroud,
Not rude like that which finer wits decline,
But such as Muses to the best allowed.
But when your figure and your shape is gone
I speechless am like as I was before;
Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan,
And blurred with tears by falling in such store
Then muse not, Licia, if my Muse be slack,
For when I wrote I did thy beauty lack. 

1. Licia Sonnets 49
2. Licia Sonnets 42
3. Licia Sonnets 48
4. Licia Sonnets 15
5. Licia Sonnets 18

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