As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
Would through the airy region stream so bright
That birds would sing and think it were not night.
See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Juliet. Ay me!
Romeo. She speaks.—
O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,