Sonnet LV. My loue more bright than Cinthias horned head

Thomas Watson (1555–1592)

MY loue more bright than Cinthias horned head,

That spreads her wings to beautifie the heauens

When Titan coucheth in his purple bed,

Thou liuest by Titan and inioiest his beames.

Shee flies when he begins to run his race,

And hides her head, his beautie staines her brightnes:

Thou staiest, thy beautie yeelds the sunne no place,

For thou excelst his beames in glories sweetnes.

Shee hath eclips, thou neur doest eclips,

Shee sometimes wanes, thy glorie still doth waxe:

None but Endymyon hangeth at her lips,

Thy beautie burnes the world as fire doth flaxe.

Shee shines by months, thou houres, months, and yeares

Oh that such beautie should inforce such teares.