XXIII.
TWo winds, one calm, another fierce, to see; Th' one of the Spring, of Winter th' other right: I plainly, Lady, do discern in thee! The first, which makes me joy, breathes from thy sight Such dainty flowers, in diverse coloured show, As makes to blush Dame iris's rainy bow. The second, which makes me to pine away, Blows from thine inward breast, a deadly blast; Where doth eternal hardness always stay, Which I do see eternal aye to last. So as calm Zephyrus, in face, thou art! But rough as boisterous Boreas, in thine heart.
XXIV.
NO sooner do I earnest fix mine eyes On my fair Sun: but that I her perceive To vanish like a cloud, in darkest wise; As if, eclipsed, her light it did bereave. I know not, If She's troubled thus because She doth disdain I should behold her so: Or if for fear, this shadow to her draws; Lest me her beams should hurt, which glistering show. Say then, sweet Love, for thou know'st best, if still I shall behold her; or no more, thou will.