This is the beginning of a poem that made me discover the joys of poetry. It was so beautifully read by one of my former professors that I ended up reading and rereading it.
First person posting the name of the poem and its author will have a positive:

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show, That she (dear She) might take some pleasure of my pain: Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know, Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain; I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe, Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain: Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burned brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay, Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows, And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way. Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes, Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite-- "Fool," said my Muse to me, "look in thy heart and write."