What might I say that was not said before

When golden tongues long hailed your precious grace

In soft cantations drawn from ancient lore,

Or penned citations of your peerless face.

So many men were moved to lavish praise

Their hearts laid bare, their sleeves by passion worn,

With eyes bright limned in sentimental glaze—

(Brave accolades, by jealous wives forsworn.)

I would not deign to debase pure love so,

For rarely do beseechments win this game;

Unrequited love courts ceaseless woe

And so unbalanced, summons lasting pain.

Here then I stand reserved, your gallant knight—

Though you fair free to choose a timid wight.