I
Lucasta wept, and still the bright
Inamour'd God of Day,
With his soft Handerkercher of Light,
Kist the wet Pearles away.
II
But when her Tears his heate or'e came,
In Cloudes he quensht his Beames,
And griev'd, wept out his Eye of Flame
So drowned her sad Streames.
III
At this she smil'd when straight the Sun
Cleer'd, with her kinde desires ;
And by her eyes Reflection,
Kindled againe his Fires.
--Richard Lovelace
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