Mary Wroth
How many eyes hast thou, poor Love, to guard
Thee from thy most desired wish, and end?
Is it because some say thou' art blind, that barred
From sight, thou should'st no happiness attend?
Who blame thee so, small justice can pretend,
Since 'twixt thee, and the sun no question hard
Can be, his sight but outward, thou canst bend
The heart, and guide it freely; thus unbarred
Art thou, while we both blind and bold thus dare
Accuse thee of the harms, ourselves should find
Who led with folly, and by rashness blind,
Thy sacred power do with a child's compare
Yet Love this boldness pardon: for admire
Thee sure we must, or be born without fire.