John Fletcher (1579–1625)

BEAUTY clear and fair,

Where the air

Rather like a perfume dwells;

Where the violet and the rose

Their blue veins and blush disclose,

And come to honour nothing else:

Where to live near

And planted there

Is to live, and still live new;

Where to gain a favour is

More than life, perpetual bliss,—

Make me live by serving you!

Dear, again back recall

To this light,

A stranger to himself and all!

Both the wonder and the story

Shall be yours, and eke the glory;

I am your servant, and your thrall.