Sonnet CCLXIII:
I will not have our holy love profaned
By that untruth which slanders as impure
The rites we keep, however far they lure
The twain by whom the sacred cup is drained.
Love is the faith; who swerves, should be arraigned;
Even if the sin be done in lines secure
Of legal contract, ’tis a crime as sure
Against the law which nature’s self ordained.
But love once granted, all that follows thence—
The fervid kiss, the interlocked caress—
Is heavenly pure to love’s most dainty sense.
May not the temple’s priest and priestess press
The burning grapes of joy, without distress
To gods whose promptings chartered the offense?
