Classic Poem

Like Memnon's rock, touched with the rising sun,
Which yields a sound and echoes forth a voice;
But, when it 's drowned in western seas, is dumb,
And drowsy-like leaves off to make a noise:
So I, my Love, enlightened with your shine,
A poet's skill within my soul I shroud,
Not rude like that which finer wits decline,
But such as Muses to the best allowed:
But when your figure and your shape is gone,
I speechless am, like as I was before;
Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan,
And blurred with tears by falling in such store:
Then muse not, Licia, if my Muse be slack;
For when I wrote I did thy beauty lack.