Sonnet XLV. Sweet Beauty’s rose! in whose fair purple leaves

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

SWEET Beauty’s rose! in whose fair purple leaves,

LOVE’s Queen, in richest ornament doth lie;

Whose graces, were they not too sweet and high,

Might here be seen, but since their sight bereaves

All senses; he (that endless bottom weaves,

Which did PENELOPE) who that shall try,

Then wonder, and in admiration die

At Nature-passing Nature’s holy frame!

Her beauty, thee revives! Thy Muse upheaves

To draw celestial spirit from the skies!

To praise the Work and Worker whence it came!

This spirit, drawn from heaven of thy fair eyes!

Whose gilded cognizance, left in mine heart,

Shews me thy faithful servant, to my smart!