Whiter than new snow on a raven's back.
Come, gentle Night, come, loving, [black-brow'd Night],
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to [the garish sun].—
O, [I have bought] the mansion of a love,
But not possess'd it, and, though I am sold,
Not yet enjoy'd. So tedious is this day