Perplexed sore am I

Perplexed, perplexed sore am I!

Thine eyes fair love like Phoebus' brightest beams

Doth set my heart on fire and daze my sight.

Yet do I live by virtue of those beams,

For when thy face is hid comes fearful night,

And I am like to die.

Then since my eyes cannot endure so heav'nly spark,

Sweet grant that I may still feel out my love by dark.

So shall I, so shall I joyful be.

Each thing on earth that liveth by the sun

Would die if he in glory still appear.

Then let some clouds of pity overrun

That glorious face, that I with lively cheer

May stand up before thee;

Or since my eyes cannot endure so heav'nly spark,

Sweet grant that I may still feel out my love by dark.