Sonnet XXII. From thine heart’s ever burning Vestal fire

Barnabe Barnes (1569?–1609)

FROM thine heart’s ever burning Vestal fire,

The torchlight of two suns is nourished still;

Which, in mild compass, still surmounting higher,

Their orbs, which circled harmony fulfil;

Whose rolling wheels run on meridian’s line,

And turning, they turn back the misty night.

Report of which clear wonder did incline

Mine eyes to gaze upon that uncouth light.

On it till I was sunburnt, did I gaze!

Which with a fervent agony possessed me;

Then did I sweat, and swell; mine eyes daze

Till that a burning fever had oppressed me:

Which made me faint. No physic hath repressed me;

For I try all! yet, for to make me sound,

Ay, me! no grass, nor physic may be found.