Ah fool, for love does teach him climbe so hie,
And lyftes him up out of the loathsome myre:
Such immortall mirrhor, as he doth admire,
Would rayse ones mynd above the starry skie.
And cause the captive corage to aspire,
For lofty love doth loathe a lowly eye.

Edmund Spenser: October, The Shepheardes Calender (via boneblue)