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...MERCILES BEAUTE; A TRIPLE ROUNDEL: 2. REJECTION by GEOFFREY CHAUCER LINES ON OBSERVING A BLOSSOM [ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY 1796] by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE TO MARY UNWIN by WILLIAM COWPER THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN: A FRAGMENT by THOMAS GRAY ODES I, 9. TO WINTER by QUINTUS HORATIUS FLACCUS TO THE SAME PURPOSE by THOMAS TRAHERNE |