Remind Me Not, Thou Grace of Serious Mien!

Remind me not, thou grace of serious mien!
That thy fresh beauties are but frail as flowers;
Eloquent lip, and lucid eye, and all
That our fond senses vainly seize upon
And can not hold; those undulating lights
Baffling our aspirations, casting down
Our venturous sight, and almost our desires.
Religion too comes in: she claims a right
Of audience; she reproves the worshipper
Of earthly image; such she calls even thee.
I bend my head before her, nor deny
Her potency of argument, yet gaze
Incredulous awhile, and only say:
" Pardon, O thou from heaven! who knowest best!
Stars, if composed of earth, yet still are stars,
And must be lookt at with uplifted eyes.