Who will believe my verse in time to come, If it were filld with your most high deserts?
Though yet, heaven knows, it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life and shows not half your parts
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say This poet lies,
Such heavenly touches ne'er touchd earthly faces.
So should my papers yellowd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be termd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice: in it and in my rhyme
What type of poem is this?
A. Sonnet
B. Ode
C. Sectina
D. Haiku