You little stars that live in skies
And glory in Apollo's glory,
In whose aspects conjoined lies
The heaven's will and nature's story,
Joy to be likened to those eyes,
Which eyes make all eyes glad or sorry;
For when you force thoughts from above,
These overrule your force by love.
And thou, O Love, which in these eyes
Hast married reason with affection,
And made them saints of Beauty's skies,
Where joys are shadows of perfection,
Lend my thy wings that I may rise
Up not by worth, but thy election;
For I have vowed in strangest fashion,
To love, and never seek compassion.