FAyre bosome fraught with vertues richest tresure, <br />The neast of loue, the lodging of delight: <br />the bowre of blisse, the paradice of pleasure, <br />the sacred harbour of that heuenly spright. <br />How was I rauisht with your louely sight, <br />and my frayle thoughts too rashly led astray? <br />whiles diuing deepe through amorous insight, <br />on the sweet spoyle of beautie they did pray. <br />And twixt her paps like early fruit in May, <br />whose haruest seemd to hasten now apace: <br />they loosely did theyr wanton winges display, <br />and there to rest themselues did boldly place. <br />Sweet thoughts I enuy your so happy rest, <br />which oft I wisht, yet neuer was so blest.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-lxxvi-2/
