Sonnet 11: In Truth, Oh Love
In
truth,
oh
Love,
with
what
a
boyish
kind
Thou
doest
proceed
in
thy
most
serious
ways:
That
when
the
heav'n
to
thee
his
best
displays,
Yet
of
that
best
thou
leav'st
the
best
behind.
For
like
a
child
that
some
fair
book
doth
find,
With
gilded
leaves
or
colored
vellum
plays,
Or
at
the
most
on
some
find
picture
stays,
But
never
heeds
the
fruit
of
writer's
mind:
So
when
thou
saw'st
in
Nature's
cabinet
Stella,
thou
straight
lookst
babies
in
her
eyes,
In
her
cheek's
pit
thou
didst
thy
pitfall
set:
And
in
her
breast
bopeep
or
couching
lies,
Playing
and
shining
in
each
outward
part:
But,
fool,
seekst
not
to
get
into
her
heart.