只用那眼惊叹，却无法开口歌颂。
Whenthe icle of wasted ti
I see descriptions of the fairest wights，
Ay akg beautiful old rhy
In praise of dies dead， and lovely knights；
Thenthe bzon of sweet beautys best
Of hand， of foot， of lip， of eye， of brow，
I see their antique pen would have exprest
Evn such a beauty as you aster now.
So all their praises are but prophecies
Of this our ti， all yurg；
And， for they lookd but with divg eyes，
They had not kill enough your worth to sg：
Forbehold these present days，
Have eyes to wonder， but ck too praise.