Thou art not only fair and sweet as Spring;
Terror and beauty, fear and wondering
Meet on thy front, amazing all who see:
All men do praise thee, ay, and everything!
Thou art my Lord to whom I bend the knee!
I fear thee, though I love. Who can behold
The sheer sun burning in the orbèd blue,
What while the noontide over hill and wold
Flames like a fire, except his mazèd view
Wither and tremble? So thy splendid sight