MICHAEL DRAYTON

Their scales upon the sand

Lavishly scatter ; Therewith to pave the mould

Whereon she passes, So herself to behold

As in her glasses.

On thy bank . . . When she looks out by night,

The stars stand gazing, Like comets to our sight

Fearfully blazing ; As wondering at her eyes

With their much brightness, Which so amaze the skies,

Dimming their lightness. The raging tempests are calm

When she speaketh, Such most delightsome balm

From her lips breaketh.

On thy bank . . . In all our Brittany

There's not a fairer, Nor can you fit any

Should you compare her. Angels her eyelids keep,

All hearts surprising ; Which look whilst she doth sleep

Like the sun's rising : She alone of her kind

Knoweth true measure, And her unmatched mind

Is heaven's treasure.

On thy bank . . .

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