The Request: To Love (Sonnet)

O Love, who in my breast's most noble part,
Didst that fair Image lodge, that Form Divine
In whom the Summ of Heavenly Graces shine,
And there ingrav'dst it with thy golden Dart.

Now mighty Work man! Help me by thy Art,
(Since my dull Pen trembles to strike a Line)
That I on paper copy the Design,
By thee express'd so lively in my Heart.

Lend me, when I this great Attempt do try,
A Feather from thy wings, that whil'st to write,
My hand's imploy'd, my thoughts may soar on high
Thy Torch, which fires our hearts and burns so bright,
My darker Fancy let it's Flame supply,
And through my numbers dart celestial Light.