But rest thy racing mind, my sweet savant,
And know thine intellect may bring thee through
Thy fear and doubt, as any other want.
I would thou should but give this truth its due
Though oft wouldst thou believe this help untrue,
My dearest, my most charming, doubtful boy;
So long the list of thy solutions, drew
My mind, as easy thou wouldst reach for joy
And find it waits for thee. No other ploy
Couldst thou detect in me; for, as I were
Thy future, thou wouldst not my past destroy.
Take this I would thee know, and let it stir
Thy mind until occureth free of daunt;
And, if thou wouldst prefer: thy quickness flaunt!
This sonnet is part of a short sequence; click here to read it all: