A Hymn In Honour Of Beauty

Ah whither, Love, wilt thou now carry me? What wontless fury dost thou now inspire Into my feeble breast, too full of thee? Whilst seeking to aslake thy raging fire, Thou in me kindlest much more great desire, And up aloft above my strength dost raise The wondrous matter of my fire to praise. That as I erst in praise of thine own name, So now in honour of thy mother dear, An honourable hymn I eke should frame, And with the brightness of her beauty clear, The ravish'd hearts of gazeful men might rear To admiration of that heavenly light, From whence proceeds such soul-enchanting might.…