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.