Sonnet XXV: Seven are the lights, that wander in

Seven are the lights, that wander in the skies,
And at these seven, I wonder in my love,
To see the, Moone, how pale she doeth arise,
Standing amaz'd, as though she durst not move:
So is my sweet, much paler than the snowe,
Constant her lookes, those lookes that cannot change,
Mercurie the next, a god sweet tong'd we know,
But her sweet voice, doth woonders speake more strange:
The rising Sunne doeth boast him of his pride,
And yet my love is farre more faire than he.
The warlike Mars, can weildles weapons guide,
But yet that god, is farre more weake than she,
The lovelie Venus, seemeth to be faire,
But at her best, my love is farre more bright
Saturne for age, with groans doth dimme the aire;
Whereas my love, with smiles doth give it light.
Gaze at her browes, where heaven ingrafted is:
Then sigh, and sweare, there is no heaven but this.