OFt when my spirit doth spred her bolder winges, <br />In mind to mount vp to the purest sky: <br />it down is weighd with thoght of earthly things: <br />and clogd with burden of mortality, <br />Where when that souerayne beauty it doth spy, <br />resembling heauens glory in her light: <br />drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it back doth fly, <br />and vnto heauen forgets her former flight. <br />There my fraile fancy fed with full delight, <br />doth bath in blisse and mantleth most at ease: <br />ne thinks of other heauen, but how it might <br />her harts desire with most contentment please, <br />Hart need not with none other happinesse, <br />but here on earth to haue such heuens blisse.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxii-2/
