THE LAMP'S SHRINE

Sometimes I fain would find in thee some fault,

That I might love thee still in spite of it:

Yet how should our Lord Love curtail one whit

Thy perfect praise whom most he would exalt?

Alas! he can but make my heart's low vault

Even in men's sight unworthier, being lit

By thee, who thereby show'st more exquisite

Like fiery chrysoprase in deep basalt.

Yet will I nowise shrink; but at Love's shrine

Myself within the beams his brow doth dart

Will set the flashing jewel of thy heart

In that dull chamber where it deigns to shine:

For lo! in honour of thine excellencies

My heart takes pride to show how poor it is.