Of Love

Of wild, bewitching hearts caressed
No kenning could so describe
Such sweet account of love possessed
That only a Muse could inscribe.
But cuffed against such full neglect
In perfect witness set,
Pleiades is seen ascending to protect
An honoured battle, lest we forget.
For lust is all of a lover’s crime
A wanton desire, as a King his whore
And in such pain speaks love, sublime
Nothing less and nothing more;
Yet a hungry heart would have this spell
Adored in thought to have loved that well.