ON AN ANKLE

A sonnet bearing the imprimatur of the inquisitor-general and other people of distinction and decency

I had a revelation not from high.

But from below, when thy skirt awhile lifted

Betrayed such promise that I am not gifted

With words that may that view well signify.

And even if my verse that thing would try,

Hard were it, if that work came to be sifted,

To find a word that rude would not have shifted

There from the cold hand of Morality.

To gaze is nought; mere sight no mind hath wrecked.

But oh! sweet lady, beyond what is seen

What things may guess or hint at Disrespect?!

Sacred is not the beauty of a queen...

I from thine ankle did as much suspect

As you from this may suspect what I mean.