Classic Poem

Heav'n knowes my Love to thee, fed on desires
So hallowed, and unmixt with vulgar fires,
As are the purest beams shot from the Sun
At his full height; and the devotion
Of dying Martyrs could not burne more cleare,
Nor Innocence in her first robes appeare
Whiter then our Affections; they did show
Like frost forc'd out of flames, and fire from snow.
So pure the Phaenix when shee did refine
Her age to youth, borrowed no flames but mine.
But now my daies o're cast, for I have now
Drawne Anger like a tempest o're the brow
Of my faire Mistresse; those your glorious eyes
Whence I was wont to see my day starre rise,
Threat like revengefull Meteors, and I feele
My torment, and my guilt double my hell.
'Twas a mistake, and might have veniall been,
Done to another, but it was made sin,
And justly Mortall too by troubling Thee,
Slight wrongs are treasons done to Majestie.
O all yee blest Ghosts of deceased Loves,
That now live Sainted in th' Elisian groves
Mediate for mercy for me; at her shrine
Meet in full quire, and joyne your praiers with mine.
Conjure her by the merits of your kisses,
By your past sufferings and present blisses.
Conjure her by your mutuall hopes, and feares;
By all your intermixed sighes, and teares,
To plead my pardon; goe to her and tell
That you will walke the guardian sentinell,
My soules safe Genii , that shee need not feare
A mutinous thought, or one close rebell there.
But what needs that, when shee alone sits there
Sole Angell of that Orbe, in her owne spheare
Alone shee sits, and can secure it free
From all irregular motions, only shee
Can give the balsome that must cure this sore;
And the sweet Antidote to sin no more.