SEven are the Lights that wander in the skies: And at these seven, I wonder in my Love. To see the Moon how pale she doth arise; Standing amazed, as though she durst not move: So is my Sweet, much paler than the snow; Constant her looks, those looks that cannot change. Mercury the next, a god sweet-tongued we know; But her sweet voice doth wonders speak more strange. The rising Sun doth boast him of his pride; And yet my Love is far more fair than he. The warlike Mars can wieldless weapons guide; But yet that god is far more weak than She. The lovely Venus seemeth to be fair; But at her best, my Love is far more bright. Saturn, for age, with groans doth dim the air; Whereas my Love, with smiles doth give it light. Gaze at her brows, where heaven engrafted is; Then sigh, and swear, There is no heaven but this.
SONNET XXVI.
I Live, sweet Love, where as the gentle wind Murmurs with sport, in midst of thickest boughs; Where loving woodbine doth the harbour bind, And chirping birds do echo forth my vows; Where strongest elm can scarce support the vine, And sweetest flowers enamelled have the ground; Where Muses dwell: and yet hereat repine That on the earth so rare a place was found. But winds delight: I wish to be content. I praise the woodbine: but I take no joy. I moan the birds that music thus have spent. As for the rest, they breed but mine annoy. Live thou, fair Licia, in this place alone: Then shall I joy, though all of these were gone.
SONNET XXVII.
