WHAT time, with brow, the Loveliest 'gins to scowl;
Shewing disdain and fury in her face:
Methinks I see the clouds wax dark and foul;
And gloomy night begins to run his race.
But, then again, when She to show begins
Her smiling cheer, adorned with favour rare:
Straightways the sun, in chariot bright forth springs;
Clear are the skies; the gladsome day, most fair.
Thus, in one face, I see, against my will,
The rising of the sun; and falling, still.