Like as the lute that joys or else dislikes <br />As in his art that plays upon the same, <br />So sounds my Muse according as she strikes <br />On my heart strings high tun'd unto her fame. <br />Her touch doth cause the warble of the sound <br />Which here I yield in lamentable wise, <br />A wailing descant on the sweetest ground, <br />Whose due reports give honor to her eyes. <br />Else harsh my style, untunable my Muse, <br />Hoarse sounds the voice that praiseth not her name; <br />If any pleasing relish here I use, <br />Then judge the world her beauty gives the same. <br />O happy ground that makes the music such, <br />And blessed hand that gives so sweet a touch.<br /><br />Samuel Daniel<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lvii-like-as-the-lute/
