Sonnet XV: I stood amaz'd, and sawe my Licia

I stood amaz'd, and sawe my Licia shine,
Fairer then Phoebus, in his brightest pride,
Set foorth in colours, by a hand divine,
Where naught was wanting, but a soule to guide.
It was a picture, that I could descrye:
Yet made with arte, so as it seem'd to live,
Surpassing faire, and yet it had no eye:
Whereof my senses, could no reason give.
With that the Painter bidde me not to muse,
Her eyes are shut, but I deserve no blame.
For if she saw, in faith, it could not chuse:
But that the worke, had wholly beene a flame.
Then burne me (sweete) with brightnesse of your eyes,
That Phaenix like, from thence I may arise.