Sonnet Clii:

Clamber again into thy midday place, O sun of love, now so besmirched with cloud; So crossed and railed against by tempests loud, That beat poor nature on her tearful face! Gather again thy potent beams, and chase That gloom away, beneath whose weight are bowed Our festive roses and our lilies proud, And let them rally in their wonted grace! Ah! surely, gentle Love, it is not night Whose leaden eyelids watch the day's decline, But passing vapors that o'erveil thy light. For if 'twere night indeed, some star of thine Would now be trembling in my anxious sight, Hung forth from heaven as hope's unfailing sign.