This is John Milton's last Italian sonnet; will you be an angel and lend me your opinion?
To flee himself (great little understood)
Do bid you take, my Lady, if you would,
My humble heart, with proof in such extent:
It was intrepid and of faith unbent,
With graceful thoughts, most courteous and good;
When exploits roaring rent the starry hood
It armed its might in native adament;
Shunning resentment and from chance secure,
Its bulk inured from hope and fear's abuses,
Kept kin to genius, proffers brave of heart,
As lyric strains amongst its arduous muses,
And only, you will find, can less endure
In that one spot where Love has put his dart.
~John Milton, sonnet 6 (from the Italian)