Sonnet XVI: Who shall Invoke her

Who shall invoke her, who shall be her priest,With single rites the common debt to pay?On some green headland fronting to the EastOur fairest boy shall kneel at break of day.Naked, uplifting in a laden trayNew milk and honey and sweet-tinctured wine,Not without twigs of clustering apple-sprayTo wreath a garland for Our Lady's shrine.The morning planet poised above the seaShall drop sweet influence through her drowsing lid;Dew-drenched, his delicate virginityShall scarce disturb the flowers he kneels amid,That, waked so lightly, shall lift up their eyes,Cushion his knees, and nod between his thighs.