So Many Gifts Sandrine Bonnant After William Shakespeare Sonnet Cxxii Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

So many gifts to praise, so little space
Admitted in one sonnet's fourteen lines.
No syllables string purer pearls to grace
Dearer neck white swan, admiring, signs.
Recording more by hints than overstatement
I find a phrase to praise, a way to free
No common rays which hasten to abatement,
Eternal mistress, timeless mystery,
Beauty's damsel with her dulcimer.
Other tunes for other ears may play,
No opiate one needs to dream on her
Need feeds from intuitions we'd obey!
Ask fourteen lines to touch her timeless scope?
Themes lack place to trace homage though I hope.