Summer and Plumeless thistles

Lord of my love; to whom in vassalage
Thy merit hath my duty strongly knit;
To thee I send this written embassage;
To witness duty; not to show my wit:
Duty so great; which wit so poor as mine
May make seem bare; in wanting words to show it;
But that I hope some good conceit of thine
In thy soul's thought; all naked; will bestow it;
Till whatsoever star that guides my moving
Points on me graciously with fair aspect
And puts apparel on my tatter'd loving;
To show me worthy of thy sweet respect:

Then may I dare to boast how I do love thee;
Till then not show my head where thou mayst prove me.

Writer : William Shakespeare

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