I never stoop'd so low, as they
Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey ;
Seldom to them which soar no higher
Than virtue, or the mind to admire
For sense and understanding may
Know what gives fuel to their fire ;
My love, though silly, is more brave ;
For may I miss, whene’er I crave
If I know yet what I would have
If that be simply perfectest
Which can by no way be express'd
But negatives, my love is so
To all, which all love, I say no
If any who deciphers best
What we know not—ourselves—can know
Let him teach me that nothing. This
As yet my ease and comfort is
Though I speed not, I cannot miss