Dull as I was, to think that a court fly <br /> Presum'd so neer her eye; <br /> When 'twas th' industrious bee <br /> Mistook her glorious face for paradise, <br />To summe up all his chymistry of spice; <br /> With a brave pride and honour led, <br /> Neer both her suns he makes his bed, <br />And, though a spark, struggles to rise as red. <br /> Then aemulates the gay <br /> Daughter of day; <br /> Acts the romantick phoenix' fate, <br /> When now, with all his sweets lay'd out in state, <br /> LUCASTA scatters but one heat, <br />And all the aromatick pills do sweat, <br />And gums calcin'd themselves to powder beat, <br /> Which a fresh gale of air <br /> Conveys into her hair; <br /> Then chaft, he's set on fire, <br />And in these holy flames doth glad expire; <br /> And that black marble tablet there <br /> So neer her either sphere <br /> Was plac'd; nor foyl, nor ornament, <br />But the sweet little bee's large monument.<br /><br />Richard Lovelace<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-black-patch-on-lucasta-s-face/