To Licia, the wise, kind, virtuous, and fair

Giles Fletcher (1586?–1623)

BRIGHT matchless Star, the honour of the sky!

From whose clear shine heaven’s vault hath all his light.

I send these Poems to your graceful eye.

Do you but take them, and they have their right.

I build besides a Temple to your name,

Wherein my thoughts shall daily sing your praise;

And will erect an Altar for the same,

Which shall, your virtues and your honour raise.

But heaven, the Temple of your honour is;

Whose brazen tops your worthy self made proud:

The ground an Altar, base for such a bliss,

With pity torn, because I sighed so loud.

And since my skill no worship can impart;

Make you an incense of my loving heart!