I saw, I thought, Beauty’s perfected form
Within the twilight sky of my love’s hair.
But cause have I to weep and eke despair
For ill-prepped ship had I to brave her storm.
Yet not by rain or hail doth it perform,
Nor am I blown about by frozen air:
The force is shining suns, a brilliant pair,
With such light to her Virtue I conform.
O Love! Thou hast me granted this full grace
To see that soul and be warmed by its beam,
Illuminating this soul I thought base.
Even thus, she undiscovered I deem.
But, look below those spheres to rubied lip,
Who with its kin my heart doth further rip.
This poem makes use of the “battered ship” conceit, which I stole from Wyatt (“My galy charged with forgetfulnes”), who in turn was inspired by Petrarch (Rime 189, “Passa la nave mia colma d’oblio”).
14. its kin: the other lip.