Page:Romance of the Rose (Ellis), volume 3.pdf/77

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That such a mighty work could be

Achieved by my capacity.

Far better were it I had died

Than venture to indulge such pride

As think that I could comprehend,

For all the pains I might expend.

Fair Nature’s glorious paradise—

Beyond all words—past thought of price;

Nor though aloft my thoughts had flown.

That I should dare to write thereon;

No—in my spirit so am I

Abashed, that fear my tongue doth tie,

And so doth shame my being steep,

That silence it behoves me keep;

For e’en as more and more I think

Of Nature’s loveliness, I shrink

From lauding, in my faltering phrase,

Her perfect works and wondrous ways.

When God, whose glory is above

All measurement, in bounteous love

Created Nature, he did make

Of her a fountain (whence should break

Unceasingly a thousand rills)

Of beauty, which the whole world fills.

This fount wells ever and cannot

By time be wasted as I wot,

More high than heaven, and than the sea

More deep, ’tis called immensity.

How then describe that body or

That countenance, that hath far more0

Of beauty than the fleur-de-lis.

Which we new blown in May-tide see?