LEt not one sparke of filthy lustfull fyre <br />breake out, that may her sacred peace molest: <br />ne one light glance of sensuall desyre: <br />Attempt to work her gentle mindes vnrest. <br />But pure affections bred in spotlesse brest, <br />& modest thoughts breathd fro[m] wel te[m]pred sprites <br />goe visit her in her bowre of rest, <br />accompanyde with angelick delightes. <br />There fill your selfe with those most ioyous sights, <br />the which my selfe could neuer yet attayne: <br />but speake no word to her of these sad plights, <br />which her too constant stiffenesse doth constrayn. <br />Onely behold her rare perfection, <br />and blesse your fortunes fayre election.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxxiiii/
