Some misbelieving and profane in love,
When I do speak of miracles by thee,
May say that thou art flatterë"d by me,
Who only write my skill in verse to prove
See miracles, ye unbelieving, see!
A dumb-born Muse made to express the mind,
A cripple hand to write, yet lame by kind,
One by thy name, the other touching thee.
Blind were mine eyes, till they were seen of thine;
And mine ears deaf by thy fame healë"d be;
My vices cured by virtues sprung from thee;
My hopes revived which long in grave had lien.
All unclean thoughts, foul spirits, cast out in me,
Only by virtue that proceeds from thee.
Sonnets: Idea Xxxv To Miracle
Michael Drayton
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Poem topics: long, mind, express, speak, blind, grave, prove, verse, thine, cripple, love, I love you, write, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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