For Love is lord of truth
and loyalty,
Lifting himself out of the lowly dust
On golden plumes
up to the purest
sky,
Above the reach
of loathly sinful lust,
Whose base
affect through cowardly distrust
Of his weak wings dare
not to heaven
fly,
But like a moldwarp in the earth doth lie.
His dunghill thoughts,
which do themselves
enure
To dirty dross,
no higher dare
aspire.
Nor can his feeble earthly eyes endure
The flaming light of that
celestial
fire
Which
kindleth love
in generous
desire,
And makes
him
mount
above
the native might
Of heavy
earth,
up to the heaven's
height.
Spenser,
Hymn in Honour of Love.