Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are <br /> Life of the Muses' day, their morning star! <br /> If works, not th' author's, their own grace should look, <br /> Whose poems would not wish to be your book? <br /> But these, desir'd by you, the maker's ends <br /> Crown with their own. Rare poems ask rare friends. <br /> Yet satires, since the most of mankind be <br /> Their unavoided subject, fewest see; <br /> For none e'er took that pleasure in sin's sense <br /> But, when they heard it tax'd, took more offence. <br /> They, then, that living where the matter is bred, <br /> Dare for these poems, yet, both ask and read <br /> And like them too, must needfully, though few, <br /> Be of the best; and 'mongst those best are you, <br /> Lucy, you brightness of our sphere, who are <br /> The Muses' evening, as their morning star.<br /><br />Benjamin Jonson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-lucy-countess-of-bedford-with-john-donne-s-sa/
