WHY, having won her, do I woo?   Because her spirit's vestal grace Provokes me always to pursue,   But, spirit-like, eludes embrace; Because her womanhood is such   That, as on court-days subjects kiss The Queen's hand, yet so near a touch   Affirms no mean familiarness; Nay, rather marks more fair the height   Which can with safety so neglect To dread, as lower ladies might,   That grace could meet with disrespect; Thus she with happy favour feeds   Allegiance from a love so high That thence no false conceit proceeds   Of difference bridged, or state put by; Because although in act and word   As lowly as a wife can be, Her manners, when they call me lord,   Remind me 'tis by courtesy; Not with her least consent of will,   Which would my proud affection hurt, But by the noble style that still   Imputes an unattain'd desert; Because her gay and lofty brows,   When all is won which hope can ask, Reflect a light of hopeless snows   That bright in virgin ether bask; Because, though free of the outer court   I am, this Temple keeps its shrine Sacred to Heaven; because, in short,   She 's not and never can be mine.