Loving in truth...

By Sir Philip Sydney (1554~1586)
Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,
That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of
  my pain,
Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make
  her know,
Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe;
Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,
Oft turning others' leaves to see if thence would flow
Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned
  brain.
But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's
  stay;

Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's
  blows,
And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my
  way.
Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my
  throes,

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite,
'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart and
  write.'