Classic Poem

Let others sing of Knights and Palladines;
In aged accents, and vntimely words:
Paint shadowes in imaginary lines,
VVhich well the reach of their high wits records;
But I must sing of thee, and those faire eies,
Autentique shall my verse in time to come,
VVhen yet th'vnborne shall say, Lo where she lies,
VVhose beauty made him speake that else was dombe.
These are the Arkes, the Trophies I erect,
That fortifie thy name against old age:
And these thy sacred vertues must protect,
Against the darke and times consuming rage.
Though th'error of my youth in them appeare,
Suffice, they shew I liu'd and lou'd thee deare.