Classic Poem

You goodly pines, which still with brave ascent
In Nature's pride your heads to heav'nward heave,
Though you besides such graces earth hath lent,
Of some late grace a greater grace receive,

By her who was (O blessed you) content
With her fair hand your tender barks to cleave,
And so by you (O blessed you) hath sent
Such piercing words as no thoughts else conceive:

Yet yield your grant, a baser hand may leave
His thoughts in you, where so sweet thoughts were spent,
For how would you the mistress' thoughts bereave
Of waiting thoughts all to her service meant?

Nay, higher thoughts (though thralled thoughts) I call
My thoughts than hers, who first your rine did rent,
Than hers, to whom my thoughts alonely thrall
Rising from low, are to the highest bent;
Where hers, whom worth makes highest over all,
Coming from her, cannot but downward fall.