Astrophil and Stella, Sonnet 90

Stella, think not that I by verse seek fame, 
      Who seek, who hope, who love, who live but thee; 
      Thine eyes my pride, thy lips mine history; 
If thou praise not, all other praise is shame. 
Nor so ambitious am I as to frame 
      A nest for my young praise in laurel tree; 
      In truth, I swear, I wish not there should be 
Graved in mine epitaph a poet's name. 
Ne if I would, could I just title make, 
      That any laud to me thereof should grow, 
Without my plumes from others' wings I take. 
For nothing from my wit or will doth flow, 
      Since all my words thy beauty doth endite, 
      And love doth hold my hand, and makes me write.