O sweet ambrosial flower, whom the dew
Of morning crowns with Vesta's diadem,
How brightly does your fire shine when few
Have seen its dancing flames! How bright to them
Who shut out noisy day from claustral silence!
My rose of chastity, how dear you've kept
Your garden's purest earth, and wrecked with violence
The creep of tares, and never fondly slept
The night with fantasies of vain indulgence!
Now, if it will not hinder your ascent
To angels' ecstasy, nor shade effulgence
Of such a lofty star, I ask consent
Merely to warm my hands, bitten with sin,
At your enduring hearth, hidden within.
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