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Poem	It is most true, that eyes are form'd to serve The inward light; and that the heavenly part Ought to be king, from whose rules who do swerve, Rebles to Nature, strive for their own smart. It is most true, what we call Cupid's dart, An image is, which for ourselves we carve: And, fools, adore in temple of hour heart, Till that good God make Church and churchman starve. True, that ture beauty virtue is indeed, Whereof this beauty can be but a shade, Which elements with mortal mixture breed: True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soul up to our country move: True, and yet true that I must Stella love.
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