So I by that; it is my day, my life.
(Richard III.)
So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not
To those fresh morning drops upon the rose,
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote
The night of dew that on my cheek down flows;
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright
Through the transparent bosom of the deep.
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light;
Thou shinest on every tear that I do weep.