Bright matchless star, the honour of the sky, <br />From whose clear shine heaven's vault hath all his light, <br />I send these poems to your graceful eye; <br />Do you but take them, and they have their right. <br />I build besides a temple to your name, <br />Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise; <br />And will erect an altar for the same, <br />Which shall your virtues and your honour raise. <br />But heaven the temple of your honour is, <br />Whose brasen tops your worthy self made proud; <br />The ground an altar, base for such a bliss <br />With pity torn, because I sighed so loud. <br />And since my skill no worship can impart, <br />Make you an incense of my loving heart. <br /> <br />Sad, all alone, not long I musing sat, <br />But that my thoughts compelled me to aspire; <br />A laurel garland in my hand I gat, <br />So the Muses I approached the nigher. <br />My suit was this, a poet to become, <br />To drink with them, and from the heavens be fed. <br />Phoebus denied, and sware there was no room, <br />Such to be poets as fond fancy led. <br />With that I mourned and sat me down to weep; <br />Venus she smiled, and smiling to me said, <br />Come drink with me, and sit thee still, and sleep. <br />This voice I heard; and Venus I obeyed. <br />That poison sweet hath done me all this wrong, <br />For now of love must needs be all my song.<br /><br />Giles Fletcher The Elder<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/licia-sonnets-01/
