Michael Drayton (Майкл Дрейтон)

Sonnet 57. You Best Discern'd of my Mind's Inward Eyes

You best discern'd of my mind's inward eyes,
And yet your graces outwardly divine,
Whose dear remembrance in my bosom lies,
Too rich a relic for so poor a shrine;
You, in whom Nature chose herself to view
When she her own perfection would admire,
Bestowing all her excellence on you,
At whose pure eyes Love lights his hallow'd fire;
E'en as a man that in some trance hath seen
More than his won'ring utt'rance can unfold,
That, rapt in spirit, in better worlds hath been,
So must your praise distractedly be told,
    Most of all short when I would show you most, 
    In your perfections so much am I lost.

1. Sonnet 24. I Hear Some Say
2. Sonnet 47. In Pride of Wit
3. Sonnet 48. Cupid, I Hate thee
4. Sonnet 31. Methinks I See Some Crooked Mimic Jeer
5. Sonnet 27. Is not Love

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