Poem 16
AH
when
will
this
long
vveary
day
haue
end,
and
lende
me
leaue
to
come
vnto
my
loue?
Hovv
slovvly
do
the
houres
theyr
numbers
spend?
How
slowly
does
sad
Time
his
feathers
moue?
Hast
thee
O
fayrest
Planet
to
thy
home
Within
the
Westerne
some:
Thy
tyred
steedes
long
since
haue
need
of
rest.
Long
though
it
be,
at
last
I
see
it
gloome,
And
the
bright
euening
star
with
golden
creast
Appeare
out
of
the
East.
Fayre
childe
of
beauty,
glorious
lampe
of
loue
That
all
the
host
of
heauen
in
rankes
doost
lead,
And
guydest
louers
through
the
nights
dread,
How
chearefully
thou
lookest
from
aboue,
And
seemst
to
laugh
atweene
thy
twinkling
light
As
ioying
in
the
sight
Of
these
glad
many
which
for
ioy
doe
sing,
That
all
the
woods
them
answer
and
their
echo
ring.
