Upon Combing her Hair

Breaking from under that thy cloudy veil,
Open and shine yet more, shine out more clear,
Thou glorious, golden beam of darling hair,
Even till my wonder-stricken senses fail.

Shine out in light, and shine those rays on far,
Thou much more fair than is the Queen of Love
When she doth comb her on her sphere above,
And from a planet turns a blazing star.

Nay, thou art greater too, more destiny
Depends on thee, than on her influence;
No hair thy fatal hand doth now dispense
But to some one a thread of life must be.

While gracious unto me, thou both dost sunder
Those glories which, if they united were,
Might have amazed sense, and shew'st each hair
Which if alone had been too great a wonder.

But stay, methinks new beauties do arise
While she withdraws these glories which were spread;
Wonder of beauties, set thy radiant head,
And strike out day from thy yet fairer eyes.