SONNET XVI

FIE foolish Earth, think you the heaven wants glory, Because your shadows do yourself benight ? All's dark unto the blind, let them be sorry ; The heavens in themselves are ever bright. Fie fond Desire, think you that Love wants glory, Because your shadows do yourself benight ? The hopes and fears of lust, may make men sorry, But Love still in herself finds her delight. Then Earth stand fast, the sky that you benight, Will turn again, and so restore your glory ; Desire be steady, hope is your delight, An orb wherein no creature can be sorry ;      Love being plac'd above these middle regions,      Where every passion wars itself with legions.