Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, <br />That having such a scope to show her pride, <br />The argument all bare is of more worth <br />Than when it hath my added praise beside. <br />O, blame me not if I no more can write! <br />Look in your glass, and there appears a face <br />That overgoes my blunt invention quite, <br />Dulling my lines, and doing me disgrace. <br />Were it not sinful then striving to mend, <br />To mar the subject that before was well? <br />For to no other pass my verses tend <br />Than of your graces and your gifts to tell; <br /> And more, much more than in my verse can sit, <br /> Your own glass shows you when you look in it.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-103-alack-what-poverty-my-muse-brings-for/
