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William Cowper - Sonnet VI. (Translated From Milton)
Work rating: Low

Enamour`d, artless, young, on foreign ground,
   Uncertain whither from myself to fly,
   To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh
   Let me devote my heart, which I have found
By certain proofs not few, intrepid, sound,
   Good, and addicted to conceptions high:
   When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky,
   It rests in adamant self-wrapt around,
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude,
   From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds abuse,
   As fond of genius, and fix`d fortitude,
Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse.
   Weak you will find it in one only part,
   Now pierc`d by Love`s immedicable dart.
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