23

The Sunne which glads, the earth at his bright sight,
When in the morne he showes his golden face,
And takes the place from tedious drowsie Night.
Making the world still happy in his grace.
Shewes happinesse remaines not in one place,
Nor may the Heavens alone to us give light,
But hide that cheerfull face, though noe long space,
Yet long enough for tryall of their might.
But never Sun-set could be so obscure,
No Desart ever had a shade so sad:
Nor could black darknesse ever prove so bad,
As paines which absence makes me now indure.
The missing of the Sunne awhile makes Night,
But absence of my joy sees never light.