Sir Philip Sidney (1554–1586)

STELLA, think not that I by verse seek fame,

Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee;

Thine eyes my pride, thy lips mine history:

If thou praise not, all other praise is shame.

Nor so ambitious am I as to frame

A nest for my young praise in laurel tree:

In truth, I swear, I wish not there should be

Graved in my epitaph a poet’s name.

Ne, if I would, could I just title make,

That any laud thereof to me should grow,

Without my plumes from others’ wings I take:

For nothing from my wit or will doth flow,

Since all my words thy beauty doth indite,

And Love doth hold my hand, and makes me write.