MArk when she smiles with amiable cheare, <br />And tell me whereto can ye lyken it: <br />when on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare, <br />an hundred Graces as in shade to sit. <br />Lykest it seemeth in my simple wit <br />vnto the fayre sunshine in somers day: <br />that when a dreadfull storme away is flit, <br />thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray <br />At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray, <br />and euery beast that to his den was fled: <br />comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, <br />and to the light lift vp theyr drouping hed. <br />So my storme beaten hart likewise is cheared, <br />with that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.<br /><br />Edmund Spenser<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-xl-2/
