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OFt when my
spirit doth spred her bolder winges,
In mind to
mount vp to the purest sky:
it down is weighd with
thoght of earthly things:
and clogd with burden of
mortality,
Where when that souerayne beauty it doth
spy,
resembling heauens glory in her light:
drawne with sweet pleasures bayt, it back doth fly,
and vnto heauen forgets her former flight.
There my
fraile fancy fed with full delight,
doth bath in
blisse and mantleth most at ease:
ne thinks of other
heauen, but how it might
her harts desire with most
contentment please,
Hart need not with none other
happinesse,
but here on earth to haue such heuens
blisse.
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