Whatever Thy Perfection Doth Require
I close my longing eyes; envisage thee;
Reflection manifesting not mine hands;
Imprisoned lightning, countenanced with fire;
Shot through, withal, mine every wish commands’.
Extremity, thy tapered waist’s degree;
Impossible perhaps, if not sublime;
And yet, sublime, thy perfect form–admire
This hourglass, although confoundeth time.
Nor could reflected shadowing foresee
Such helplessness within, as now I feel;
Restrained, regarding mine embraced desire
Ensnaring; captor, caught without appeal;
This weal of metaphor thy warder barred;
Imprisonment inspired such a guard.