by William Alexander
What wonder though my count'nance be not bright,
And that I looke as one with clouds inclos'd?
A great part of the earth is interpos'd
Betwixt the Sunne and me that giues me light:
Ah (since sequestred from that diuine face)
I finde my selfe more sluggishly dispos'd:
Nor whil'st on such a patterne I repos'd,
That put my inward darknesse to the flight.
No more then can the Sunne shine without beames,
Cann she vncompas'd with her vertues liue,
Which to the world an euidence do giue
Of that rare worth which many a mouth proclaimes:
The which sometime did purifie my mind,
That by the want thereof is now made blind.
Last updated January 14, 2019