Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE WEAVES UPON THE NAME LAURETA OR LAURA

And when I move my sighs on you to call
And that dear name which Love wrote in my heart,
LAUding the which, one hears the first bells start,
The first sweet notes, the first sweet accents fall;
Your REal state, your essence actual,
Comes next to double ardour and my art;
But TAcit peace prevents the end: that part
To honour is not for my strength at all.
So that to LAUd and to REvere must teach
Your very name, if one dare call it loud,
O worth all praise, all reverence, all speech —
Save that perhaps Apollo glare grim-browed
Since here of his green branches out of reach
Speaks mortal tongue presumptuous and proud.