This holy season, fit to fast and pray, Men to devotion ought to be inclynd: Therefore, I lykewise, on so holy day, For my sweet saynt some service fit will find. Her temple fayre is built within my mind, In which her glorious ymage placed is, On which my thoughts doo day and night attend, Lyke sacred priests that never thinke amisse. There I to her, as th' author of my blisse, Will builde an altar to appease her yre; And on the same my hart will sacrifise, Burning in flames of pure and chast desyre: The which vouchsafe, O goddesse, to accept, Amongst thy deerest relicks to be kept. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SAILOR TO HIS PARROT by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES BURY ME IN A FREE LAND by FRANCES ELLEN WATKINS HARPER TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: PAUL REVERE'S RIDE [APRIL 1775] by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW A LONDON FETE by COVENTRY KERSEY DIGHTON PATMORE |