 | The Works of Michael Drayton |  |
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[You best discern'd of my Minds inward Eyes]
You best discern'd of my Minds inward Eyes,And yet your Graces outwardly Divine,
Whose deare remembrance in my Bosome lyes,
Too rich a Relique for so poore a Shrine:
You, in whom Nature chose her selfe to view,
When she her owne perfection would admire,
Bestowing all her Excellence on you;
At whose pure Eyes, Love lights his hallow'd Fire,
Ev'n as a Man that in some Trance hath seene
More then his wond'ring utt'rance can unfold,
That rapt in Spirit, in better Worlds hath beene,
So must your prayse distractedly be told;
Most of all short, when I should shew you most,
In your perfections so much am I lost.
| The Works of Michael Drayton | |