Sonnet 65

AND doe I see some cause of hope to finde?
Or doth the tedious burthen of long woe
In weakned mindes, quicke apprehension breede
Of euery Image which may comfort showe.
I cannot brag of word, much lesse of deede,
Fortunes windes still with me in one sorte blowe:
My wealth no more, and no whit lesse my neede,
Desier, still on stilts of feare doth goe.
And yet amids all feares, a hope there is
Stolne to my hart: since last faire night (nay day)
Stellas eyes sent to me the beames of blisse,
Looking on mee, I looke an other way:
But when mine eyes blacke to their heauen did moue:
They fled with blush, which guiltie seem'd of loue.