Page:An English Garner Ingatherings from Our History and Literature (Volume 1 1877).pdf/66

 * Fair CYNTHIA'S silver light That beats on running streams, Compares not with her white, Whose hairs are all sunbeams. Her virtues so do shine As day, unto mine eyne.

With this there is a red Exceeds the damask rose: Which in her cheeks is spread, Whence every favour grows. In sky there is no star, That she surmounts not far.

When PHOEBUS from the bed Of THETIS doth arise; The morning blushing red In fair carnation-wise, He shows it in her face As queen of every grace.

This pleasant lily white, This taint of roseate red, This CYNTHIA'S silver light, The sweet fair Dea spread, These sunbeams in mine eye; These beauties make me die.

E.O.