For ages men's thoughts hast roved yonder skies,
Naming nameless planets and stars afar,
But not far from mine eyes nor from thine eyes,
There's still a novelty un-named bright star,
That whispers along like a rushing brook,
Drawing men in a vale of thoughts to Rove,
Like a lone shepherd doth search a stray crook,
Or like a frisky cloud scudding above.
Though, if she'd be a gem, she's but a pearl,
Thrice more precious than gold is to a dwarf,
Yet if a flower, seldom doth unfurl,
Despite to her, poetry, all men ****.

If thee would truly unveil my riddle,
Come thou away take my golden fiddle.