All these conspiracies of the perfection of love, the proud graces of beauty, and these countless favors and blessings are being showered upon merely my handful of dust (my humble existence).

Here, the poet is struck by sheer wonder and humility, marveling at why love and beauty are orchestrating such grand designs for someone as fragile as himself. By calling himself merely a 'handful of dust', he contrasts his insignificant mortal self with the immense grace being showered upon him. It beautifully captures that overwhelming moment when you feel utterly undeserving of such profound affection, yet deeply blessed by it.