A Love Sonnet

I call my meager talent to my aid,
And ask for inspiration never sent.
I think how difficult my task is made:
I do not know for whom this work is meant.
But I assume her beauty unsurpassed
By any that I thought I loved before,
And though on that list she is but the last
I have convinced myself I love her more.
Now from my sonnet I must brief digress;
Alas my words can not describe her quite.
My tongue can not praise her enough unless
A poem by Yeats or Shakespeare I recite.
But if this poem she thinks a thoughtful start,
I venture next to give her all my heart.

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