The heavens beheld the beauty of my queen, <br />And all amazed, to wonder thus began: <br />"Why dotes not Jove, as erst we all have seen, <br />And shapes himself like to a seemly man? <br />Mean are the matches which he sought before, <br />Like bloomless buds, too base to make compare, <br />And she alone hath treasured beauty's store, <br />In whom all gifts and princely graces are. <br />Cupid replied: "I posted with the sun <br />To view the maids that livéd in those days, <br />And none there was that might not well be won, <br />But she, most hard, most cold, made of delays. <br />Heavens were deceived, and wrong they do esteem, <br />She hath no heat, although she living seem.<br /><br />Giles Fletcher The Elder<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/licia-sonnets-03/
