Sonnet 101

O truant Muse, what shall be thy amends

For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?

Both truth and beauty on my love depends;

So dost thou too, and therein dignified.

Make answer, Muse: wilt thou not haply say,

‘Truth needs no colour, with his colour fix’d;

Beauty no pencil, beauty’s truth to lay;

But best is best, if never intermix’d?’

Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb?

Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee

To make him much outlive a gilded tomb,

And to be praised of ages yet to be.

Then do thy office, Muse; I teach thee how

To make him seem long hence—as he shows now.

Lazy Muse, what help will there be

For the world without your poem,

Reconciliation of truth and beauty

Through the love that this comes from?

Would you say that truth is so

Forceful that it needs no beauty?

Or that beauty has such a soft glow

That intellect is its enemy?

Should the two stay separate,

Never sharing of each other?

Is there nothing you can write

To equal my lover?

Do your job, Muse. I will show you.

See: she’s beautiful. It sounds true.