Classic Poem

Sonnett

He that cann number by his skill or payne
The starres of heaven when they doo shyne moste bright
Or truly can recompte the droppes of rayne
That fall from hye and on the Earthe doo lyght
Or all the flowers wherewith the lustye springe
Doth yearely cloathe and bewtyfye the landes
Or all the graines that harveste fourth doth bringe
Or els the multytude off Aphrick sandes
Or all the Idell thoughts that haunte mens myndes
Or every leafe that from the Trees doo fall
By bitter blasts off wrathfull winters wyndes
Lett hym I saye as one Excellinge all
Number lykewise your vertues that allure
And all those woes that I for yow endure.