Sonnet LXI. The glorious image of the Maker’s beauty

Edmund Spenser (1552?–1599)

THE GLORIOUS image of the Maker’s beauty,

My sovereign saint, the idol of my thought,

Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of duty,

T’ accuse of pride, or rashly blame for aught.

For being, as she is, divinely wrought,

And of the brood of Angels heavenly born;

And with the crew of blessed Saints upbrought,

Each of which did her with their gifts adorn;

The bud of joy, the blossom of the morn,

The beam of light, whom mortal eyes admire;

What reason is it then but she should scorn

Base things, that to her love too bold aspire?

Such heavenly forms ought rather worshipped be,

Than dare be lov’d by men of mean degree.