When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes, <br /> In colour black why wrapt she beams so bright? <br /> Would she in beamy black, like painter wise, <br /> Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light? <br /> Or did she else that sober hue devise, <br /> In object best to knit and strength our sight; <br /> Lest, if no veil these brave gleams did disguise, <br /> They, sunlike, should more dazzle than delight? <br /> Or would she her miraculous power show, <br /> That, whereas black seems beauty's contrary, <br /> She even in black doth make all beauties flow? <br /> Both so, and thus,--she, minding Love should be <br /> Plac'd ever there, gave him this mourning weed <br /> To honour all their deaths who for her bleed.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/astrophel-and-stella-vii-whennature-made-her-chi/
