Seccombe and Arber, comps. Elizabethan Sonnets. 1904.
Parthenophil and ParthenopheMadrigal 26. I dare not speak of that thrice holy hill
Barnabe Barnes (1569?1609)I
Which, spread with silver lilies, lies;
Nor of those violets which void veins full fill,
Nor of that maze on love’s hill-top:
These secrets must not be surveyed with eyes!
No creature may those flowers crop!
Nor bathe in that clear fountain,
Where none but P
In bottom of that sacred mountain—
But, whither, now? Thy verses overlash!