Sonnet CCXLIV:
I do not merit it that thou shouldst stir
A step beyond the coldness of the shrine
My heart has built thee, nor one look incline
Of careless grace upon thy worshiper.
Ah, faultless goddess, if thou’lt not deter
My useless homage, and in scorn divine,
Turn from the tinkle of my irksome line,
My prayers, my rites of smoking spice and myrrh;
That graciousness were boundless, far above
The meed of one whose nature, to the view
Of his own eyes, is spotted through and through.
Sit still, calm queen! but O, lest pity prove
Thy sole accuser, deem my service true,
As at thy feet I kneel, my only love.
