He might not sing so wildly well
A mortal melody,
While a bolder note than this might swell
From my lyre within the sky.
Oh speake againe bright angell, for thou art
As glorious to this night being ore my head,
As is a wingèd messenger of heaven
Unto the white upturned wondring eyes
Of mortalls that fall backe to gaze on him.
Romeo and Juliet