Astrophel and Stella - Sonnet LXXVII

Those lookes, whose beames be ioy, whose motion is delight; That face, whose lecture shews what perfect beauty is; That presence, which doth giue darke hearts a liuing light; That grace, which Venus weeps that she her selfe doth misse; That hand, which without touch holds more then Atlas might; Those lips, which make deaths pay a meane price for a kisse; That skin, whose passe-praise hue scornes this poor tearm of white; Those words, which do sublime the quintessence of bliss; That voyce, which makes the soule plant himselfe in the ears, That conuersation sweet, where such high comforts be, As, consterd in true speech, the name of heaun it beares; Makes me in my best thoughts and quietst iudgments see That in no more but these I might be fully blest: Yet, ah, my mayd'n Muse doth blush to tell the best.