Classic Poem

My spotlesse love hoovers with purest wings
About the temple of the proudest frame,
Where blaze those lights, fayrest of earthly things,
Which cleer our clowded world with brightest flame.
M'ambitious thoughts, confined in her face,
Affect no honour but what she can give:
My hopes doe rest in limits of her grace;
I weigh no comfort unlesse she relieve
For she that can my hart imparadize,
Holds in her fairest hand what deerest is:
My fortune's wheele's the circle of her eyes,
Whose rowling grace deigne once a turne of blis.
All my live's sweet consists in her alone,
So much I love the most unloving one