Sonnet Clxx:

Yes, I could trust, forever and a day, Thy constant heart to any worldling's wiles, Surround thy senses with the lies and guiles That hiss and gender in the truth's decay. I know the nature of thy taintless clay, The mystic candor of thy vestal smiles Thy soul of fire, consuming what defiles, Yet, flame-pure, mounting on its heavenly way. Why should thy breath of precious spice and myrrh, Devour the sin and garbage of the land, Serving the purpose of the hangman's brand? No; let me find some nobler use for her, Build her a temple, far from public stir, And by her altar take my public stand.