patience

My Lady Patience hath a wondrous patience all her own,
chooseth she not to haste, so moderate she and still when a moment all in stillness doth become so that it lingers, so soft that even birds their scatt'ring flight will pause and gather to her side and sing, so sweet a thing is lovely then to see, and she is all the cause.
Sometimes it seems that e'en the scented day ever so eager to haste away will choice to stay,
for her alone, I think.

And what of loving night, whose fast embrace doth lovers' moments chase before it, so those longing hours all seem to haste; and yearning, yearn the more to know those hours so fast
a'paced?  
Even the dawn will her peaceful fancy wait
When she to me doth turn, and I to her -
And Venus' cup we lingering taste.