Acrostic. (Number 2) Poem by Ephelia

Apollo
hence! thy aid I do refuse;
No Nymph will I implore, nor yet no Muse;
No Nectar do I want, to write her praise.
Great Subjects, without help our Fancies raise:
In thy sweet Face such charming Beauties be,
Less we at Angels wonder than at thee:
Brighter than Suns thy lovely Eyes appear,
Each look doth a Majestic sweetness wear:
Reign Sovereign Queen of Beauty, Love, and wit,
Till Death's cold hand shall teach thee to submit.