Stars fall to fetch fresh light from her rich eyes,
Her bright Brow drives the Sun to Clouds beneath.
Her Hairs reflex with red strakes paints the Skies,
Sweet Morn and Evening dew flows from her breath:
Phoebe rules Tides, she my Tears tides forth draws,
In her sick-Bed Love sits, and maketh Laws.
Her dainty Limbs tinsel her Silk soft Sheets,
Her Rose-crown'd Cheeks eclipse my dazled sight.
O Glass! with too much joy my thoughts thou greets,
And yet thou shew'st me day but by twilight.