NO sooner do I earnest fix mine eyes
On my fair Sun: but that I her perceive
To vanish like a cloud, in darkest wise;
As if, eclipsed, her light it did bereave.
I know not, If She's troubled thus because
She doth disdain I should behold her so:
Or if for fear, this shadow to her draws;
Lest me her beams should hurt, which glistering show.
Say then, sweet LOVE, for thou know'st best, if still
I shall behold her; or no more, thou will.