Astrophil and
Stella, Sonnet
91
Stella, while now by honour’s cruel might,
I am
from you, light of my
life, misled,
And that
fair you, my sun, thus
overspread
With absence’ veil, I live in sorrow’s night;
If this dark place yet show, like candle light
Some
beauty’s piece, as amber-coloured head,
Milk
hands, rose cheeks, or lips
more sweet, more red,
Or seeing jets, black, but in blackness bright;
They
please, I do confess, they
please mine eyes.
But why? Because of you they models be,
Models such be wood globes of glistering skies.
Dear, therefore be not jealous over me;
If you
hear that they seem my heart
to move,
Not
them, O no, but you in them I
love.