Synopsis:

The poet, in reading descriptions of beautiful knights and ladies in old poetry, realizes that the poets were trying to describe the beauty of the beloved, but, having never seen him, could only approximate it.

 When in the chronicle of wasted timeI see descriptions of the fairest wights,And beauty making beautiful old rhymeIn praise of ladies dead and lovely knights,Then in the blazon of sweet beauty’s best,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique pen would have expressedEven such a beauty as you master now.So all their praises are but propheciesOf this our time, all you prefiguring;And, for they looked but with divining eyes,They had not ⌜skill⌝ enough your worth to sing.For we, which now behold these present days,Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.