Sonnet XXIV

Noble spirit, in whom is reflected,

and in whose beautiful limbs, honest and dear, one can see

all that nature and heaven can achieve within us,

excelling any other work of beauty;

graceful spirit, within whom one hopes and believes

dwell - as they outwardly appear in your face -

love, pity, mercy, things so rare

and never found in beauty so truly;

love takes me captive, and beauty binds me;

pity and mercy with sweet glances

fill my heart with strong hope.

What law or power in the world,

what cruelty of this time or of a time to come,

could keep Death from sparing such a lovely face?