by Lady Mary Wroth
(1587?-1651?)
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 Love's force was born:
How may they term you April's sweetest morn
When pleasing looks from those bright lights appear:
A sun-shine day; from clouds, and mists still clear
Kind nursing fires for wishes yet unborn!
Two stars of Heaven, sent down to grace the Earth,
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.
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