Muses, I oft invoked your hold aid, <br />With choicest flow'rs my speech t'engarland so <br />That it, despis'd in true by naked show, <br />Might win some grace in your sweet grace array'd. <br /> <br />And oft whole troops of saddest words I stay'd, <br />Striving abroad a-foraging to go; <br />Until by your inspiring I might know <br />How their black banner might be best display'd. <br /> <br />But now I mean no more your help to try, <br />Nor other sug'ring of my speech to prove, <br />But on her name incessantly to cry: <br /> <br />For let me but name her whom I do love <br />So sweet sounds straight mine ear and heart do hit, <br />That I well find no eloquence like it.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-55-muses-i-oft-invoked/
