Sonnet 51

THose Eyes, those sparkling Saphires of Delight,
Which thousand thousand Hearts did set on Fire,
Of which that Eye of Heaven which brings the light
Oft Jealous, stayed amaz'd them to admire.
That living Snow, those crimson Roses bright,
Those Pearles, those Rubies which enflam'd Desire,
Those Locks of Gold, that Purple faire of Tyre,
Are wrapt [aye me!] up in eternall Night.
What hast thou more to vaunt of wretched World,
Sith she who caused all thy blisse is gone?
Thy ever-burning Lamps, Rounds ever-whorld
Can not unto thee modell such a One:
Or if they would such Beauty bring on Earth,
They should be forc'd againe to give her birth.