CVII THE FAVOUR

O Thy bright looks! Thy glance of love

Shown, and but shown, me from above!

Rare looks! that can dispense such joy

As without wooing wins the coy,

And makes him mourn, and pine and die,

Like a starved eaglet for Thine eye.

Some kind herbs here, though low and far,

Watch for and know their loving star.

O let no star compare with Thee!

Nor any herb out-duty me!

So shall my nights and mornings be

Thy time to shine, and mine to see.