As sometimes with a sable Cloud
We see the Heav'ns bow'd,
And darkning all the aire,
Untill the lab'ring fires they do contain
Break forth again,
Ev'n so from under your black hair
I saw such an unusual blaze
Light'ning and sparkling from your eyes,
And with unused prodigies
Forcing such terrors and amaze,
That I did judge your Empire here
Was not of love alone, but fear.

But as all that is violent
Doth by degrees relent,
So when that sweetest face,
Growing at last to be serene and clear,
Did now appear
With all its wonted heav'nly Grace,
And your appeased eyes did send
A beam from them so soft and mild,
That former terrors were exil'd,
And all that could amaze did end;
Darkness in me was chang'd to light,
Wonder to love, love to delight.

Nor here yet did your goodness cesse
My heart and eyes to bless,
For being past all hope,
That I could now enjoy a better state,
And orient gate
(As if the Heav'ns themselves did ope)
First found in thee, and then disclos'd
So gracious and sweet a smile,
That my soul ravished the while,
And wholly from it self unloos'd,
Seem'd hov'ring in your breath to rise,
To feel an air of Paradise.

Nor here yet did your favours end,
For whil'st I down did bend,
As one who now did miss
Would turn no more,
A soul, which grown much happier then before,
You did bestow on me a Kiss,
And in that Kiss a soul infuse,
Which was so fashion'd by your mind,
And which was so much more refin'd,
Then that I formerly did use,
That if one soul found joys in thee,
The other fram'd them new in me.

But as those bodies which dispense
Their beams, in parting hence
Those beams do recollect,
Until they in themselves resumed have
The forms they gave,
So when your gracious aspect
From me was turned once away,
Neither could I thy soul retain,
Nor you gave mine leave to remain,
To make with you a longer stay,
Or suffer'd ought else to appear
But your hair, nights hemisphere.
Only as we in Loadstones find
Vertue of such a kind,
That what they once do give,
B'ing neither to be chang'd by any Clime,
Or forc'd by time,
Doth ever in its subjects live;
So though I be from you retir'd,
The power you gave yet still abides,
And my soul ever so guides,
By your magnetique touch inspir'd,
That all it moves, or is inclin'd,
Comes from the motions of your mind.