Classic Poem

Sweet glove, the witness of my secret bliss
(Which hiding didst preserve that beauty's light
That, opened forth, my seal of comfort is),
Be thou my star in this my darkest night,
Now that mine eyes their cheerful sun do miss
Which dazzling still, doth still maintain my sight;
Be thou, sweet glove, the anchor of my mind,
Till my frail bark his hav'n again do find.

Sweet glove, the sweet despoils of sweetest hand,
Fair hand, the fairest pledge of fairer heart,
True heart, whose truth doth yield to truest band,
Chief band, I say, which ties my chiefest part,
My chiefest part, wherein do chiefly stand
Those secret joys, which heav'n to me impart,
Unite in one, my state thus still to save;
You have my thanks, let me your comfort have.