To treat you as a goddess would be wrong,
To bend before you, worship and entreat
Of you a glance perhaps, or kiss your feet,
That I might stay here, that I might belong
To you. To treat you this way would be sick,
Perverse, unnatural, and might so inspire,
From holy virtue, some unkind desire;
A tender rose that, sprouting thorns, would prick
My senses. Still, my eyes do flitter down,
So overwhelmed with beauty, not enured
Yet to your looks, and though I am so sure
That praying thus will cause your smile to frown.
That, had enough, you'll tire of me one day,
My love is such, I'll worship anyway.