On Mr G Herbert's Book, Entitled The Temple : Sacred Poems

Know you, fair, on what you look ?

Divinest love lies in this book,

Expecting fire from your eyes,

To kindle this His sacrifice.

When your hands untie these strings,

Think you've an angel by the wings ;

One that gladly will be nigh

To wait upon each morning sigh,

To flutter in the balmy air

Of your well-perfum褠prayer.

These white plumes of His He'll lend you,

Which every day to heaven will send you ;

To take acquaintance of the sphere,

And all the smooth-faced kindred there.

And though Herbert's name do owe

These devotions, fairest, know

That while I lay them on the shrine

Of your white hand, they are mine.

Form: couplets 15. owe: own.