Wittes Pilgrimage, Sonnet 55

SHee comes, Shee comes, mount, mount my Soule
Vnto the heigth of Admiration!
See how the Sunne him selfe begins to scoule
To see a fairer Sunne the Earth vpon!
O glorious Light (which makes our Hemispheare
Like Iupiters Starre-Chamber with thy Raies!)
How dost thou mee confound with Loue, and feare?
What praise but Wonder, can thy Wonders praise!
Stand, stand a loose, come not to neere mine Eyes:
For, thou wilt make them lightlesse with thy Light!
O mee! my Hart, how with thy Beames, it Fryes!
What mean'st (ô Miracle!) to melt mee quite?
Hold, hold; no more: thy Beames from me auert,
Vnlesse, from them, Thou hide me in thy Hart.