By Lady Mary Wroth
Dear eyes how well indeed, you do adorn
That blessed sphere, which gazing souls hold dear?
The loved place of sought for Triumphs, near
The Court of Glory, where Loves forces was born.
How may they term you April's sweetest morn?
When pleasing looks, from those bright lights appear
A sunshine day, from clouds, and mists sill clear:
Kind nursing fires for wishes yet unborn.
Two stars of Heaven sent down to grace the Warmth,
Plac'd in that Throne which gives all joys their birth,
Shining, and burning; pleasing yet their charms:
Which wounding, even in hurts are deem'd delights;
So pleasant is their force, so great their mights,
As happy they can triumph in their harms.