Sonnet to Dica, the fair and wise (Way)

Dica, I love all dainty grace; and more
Than all I love the dainty grace of thee.
Love has the splendour of the sun for me,
The beauty that the sun's rays earthward pour.
I love not thy grace only: I adore
Wisdom, a thing divine; and there will be
Never a maid that shall the sun's light see
Who more than thou is dowered with wisdom's lore.
Then in thy wisdom, Dica, do thou twine,
With fingers soft, in wreaths of anise-spray
All fairest flowers to deck thy lovely hair.
To suppliants flower-crowned the Gods incline
A gracious ear, but turn in scorn away
From the ungarlanded, and spurn their prayer.