Astrophel and Stella: 77

Those lookes, whose beames be joy, whose motion is delight,That face, whose lecture shewes what perfect beautie is:That presence, which doth giue darke hearts a liuing light:That grace, which Venus weepes that she her selfe doth misse:That hand, which without touch holds more then Atlas might;Those lips, which makes deaths pay a meane price for a kisse:That skin, whose passe-praise hue scornes this poore terme of white:Those words, which do sublime the quintessence of blisse:That voyce, which makes the soule plant himselfe in the eares:That conuersation sweet, where such high comforts be,As constered in true speech, the name of heau'n it beares,Makes me in my best thoughts and quietst judgement see,That in no more but these I might be fully blest:Yet ah, my Mayd'n Muse doth blush to tell the best.