When Nature made her chief work, Stella's eyes, <br />In color black why wrapp'd she beams so bright? <br />Would she in beamy black, like painter wise, <br />Frame daintiest lustre, mix'd of shades and light? <br /> <br />Or did she else that sober hue devise, <br />In object best to knit and strength our sight, <br />Lest if no veil those brave gleams did disguise, <br />They sun-like should more dazzle than delight? <br /> <br />Or would she her miraculous power show, <br />That whereas black seems Beauty's contrary, <br />She even if black doth make all beauties flow? <br /> <br />Both so and thus, she minding Love shoud be <br />Placed ever there, gave him this mourning weed, <br />To honor all their deaths, who for her bleed.<br /><br />Sir Philip Sidney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-7-when-nature/
