A Divine Mistress

In Nature's pieces still I see

Some error that might mended be;

Something my wish could still remove,

Alter or add; but my fair love

Was fram'd by hands far more divine,

For she hath every beauteous line:

Yet I had been far happier,

Had Nature, that made me, made her.

Then likeness might (that love creates)

Have made her love what now she hates;

Yet I confess I cannot spare

From her just shape the smallest hair;

Nor need I beg from all the store

Of heaven for her one beauty more.

She hath too much divinity for me:

You gods, teach her some more humanity.