Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed

Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed,
Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred.
How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds?
Or can he love on whom no comfort shines?

Fair! I confess there's pleasure in your sight!
Sweet! you have power, I grant, of all delight!
But what is all to me, if I have none?
Churl, that you are, t'enjoy such wealth alone!

Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you;
Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view,
Then will I pray again, hoping to find,
As well as in your looks heaven in your mind!

Saint of my heart, Queen of my life and love,
O let my vows thy loving spirit move!
Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain;
But with one touch of grace cure all my pain.