HAppy ye leaues when as those lilly hands, <br />which hold my life in their dead doing might <br />shall handle you and hold in loues soft bands, <br />lyke captiues trembling at the victors sight. <br />And happy lines, on which with starry light, <br />those lamping eyes will deigne sometimes to look <br />and reade the sorrowes of my dying spright, <br />written with teares in harts close bleeding book. <br />And happy rymes bath'd in the sacred brooke, <br />of Helicon whence she deriued is, <br />when ye behold that Angels blessed looke, <br />my soules long lacked foode, my heauens blis. <br />Leaues, lines, and rymes, seeke her to please alone, <br />whom if ye please, I care for other none.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-i-3/
