'Tis hard to love not, whilst to love br Be sad joy, if by lust misled, br Thoughts too sweetly gaze on things br That perforce must change and decay. br br Who's the man could savour his fill br Of gold, fame, sceptre, delights, false br Count'nance fair, that a heart he'd br Have sated and all cares might allay? br br Love's surely our being's just course, br Aye, but 'tis flesh, from matter wrought, br Praising what knows like inception, br Guiles the soul, for which all's little br br If Thee, Beauty real and e'erlasting, br It sees not, its love's true object.