IN that proud port, which her so goodly graceth, <br />whiles her faire face she reares vp to the skie: <br />and to the ground her eie lids low embaseth, <br />most goodly temperature ye may descry, <br />Myld humblesse mixt with awfull maiesty, <br />for looking on the earth whence she was borne: <br />her minde remembreth her mortalitie, <br />what so is fayrest shall to earth returne. <br />But that same lofty countenance seemes to scorne <br />base thing, & thinke how she to heauen may clime: <br />treading downe earth as lothsome and forlorne, <br />that hinders heauenly thoughts with drossy slime. <br />Yet lowly still vouchsafe to looke on me, <br />such lowlinesse shall make you lofty be.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xiii/
